


Clomplex's Clovember

by complexhero



Series: My Boyfriend, My Boyfriend, and Me [4]
Category: RWBY
Genre: Basically a dumping ground for the cousins Ebi, Bottom Clover Ebi, Clovember 2020, M/M, Oop there's smut now, Read Them Chapter Warnings, Tags May Change, Top James Ironwood, Top Qrow Branwen, tags added as needed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:28:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 44,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27325831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/complexhero/pseuds/complexhero
Summary: All my Clovember 2020 prompts! Some Gen, some shippy, see chapter tags and ratings.Smut is in chapters 6, 11, 16, 21, 26 and 29. Everything else ranges from G to M.
Relationships: Clover Ebi/James Ironwood, Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi, Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi/James Ironwood, Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi/James Ironwood/Taiyang Xiao Long
Series: My Boyfriend, My Boyfriend, and Me [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1862212
Comments: 311
Kudos: 77





	1. Sleeve(less) (Gen)

**Author's Note:**

> CLOVEMBER, BABYBEEEEE!!!
> 
> Did I turn this into a dumping ground for all my Clover backstory that didn't fit into I'll Keep It With Mine? You bet!!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Rating: G  
> Chapter warnings: None except for mentions of Clover's shitty dad.

“You look dumb.”

Clover jumped, whirling around. His cousin Faye was leaning in the doorway, arms crossed and a smirk on her face. Clover flushed. He smoothed his hands down his shiny new uniform, pressing away imaginary wrinkles.

“What—I do _not_ look…what are you even doing here?”

He wasn’t expecting her; they’d said their goodbyes last night. But apparently Faye was doing one last victory lap around campus before leaving for good. Which of course involved teasing him to his face. Or his back.

Faye pushed off from the doorway, inviting herself into the room he’d be sharing with his new team. Which…gods, that was a thing. He’d never had to _share a room_ before, a fact that his father had pointed out at least five times while Clover tried valiantly to cram all his belongings into two suitcases. As if he couldn’t just come home on the weekends to pick up anything he’d forgotten. But no, the Colonel insisted he take this opportunity seriously.

Well. He’d phrased it differently. It was a bit of a relief to be out of the house, to be honest.

“Had to come check on my baby cousin before I took off,” Faye said, giving his shoulder an affectionate punch. Clover activated his aura before it could bruise. “Where’s your friends?”

“We just met, we’re not really…” Clover trailed off, then cleared his throat. “Uh, I think they’re getting ice cream or something.”

Faye frowned, settling down on Nico’s bed. Clover felt his face heat up. Because of course he wasn’t just sharing a room with three virtual strangers. One of them was a _cute boy_. And they were _everywhere_ around here.

“What, you’re watching your waistline all of a sudden?” Faye asked. Even through her words were teasing, there was an undercurrent of worry to them. Clover shook his head, turning back to the mirror and adjusting his collar again.

“No, I just…they seemed like they wanted to catch up, is all.”

Clover didn’t know any of them. The twins, Nico and Neve, were from a much, _much_ nicer part of Atlas then he was. They’d gone to a highly selective private school, along with his third teammate, Yolanda. Who was an absolute beast in combat. It was strange, how he could be on such familiar ground and still feel like the new kid. Clover had no idea how he’d made team leader. Probably just _luck_ , which was what everyone would say anyway. Or nepotism.

“You know, you’re not gonna make friends unless you put yourself out there,” Faye said. He glanced at her reflection in the mirror, pulled from his thoughts.

“I do,” he protested. And he did. They’d all just had lunch together. But Clover didn’t know any of the references they were making, and it got a bit awkward with Neve stopping to kindly explain who or what they were talking about every two minutes. So when they got the notification that their books and uniforms were ready to be picked up, he’d offered to go get everyone’s. Since he knew where everything was.

And now he was trying on his uniform and contemplating cracking into the reading for next week. Like an absolute loser.

“You _think_ you do, and yet here you are.” Faye stood, coming up behind him. Her gray-blue eyes found his in the mirror. “Loosen up a bit. Isn’t it about time you got to have some fun?”

Clover rolled his eyes. “You say that like the Colonel doesn’t work on the same base.”

“Didn’t stop me,” she said with a wink. She reached up and ruffled his hair. Clover squirmed away, making a face.

“ _You_ can do no wrong,” he shot back. “ _I_ will get an hour-long lecture if I don’t tie my tie right.”

He glanced down at himself, at the stark gray and white of the Atlas uniform. It was…frankly uncomfortable. He preferred his combat clothes. And while he wouldn’t be _fighting_ in this outfit, it didn’t seem normal that he could barely _move_ in it. The tie choked him, the stupid belt was stiff, and the shoulders of the jacket were cut so close he felt like he might rip something if he raised his hand. Everything only sat right if he stood perfectly straight, which was probably the point.

Faye snickered. “You obviously haven’t heard our dads getting all worked up about how I’m the _very first Ebi in three generations_ to not join the military. I am a shame to the Ebi line.”

He snorted. “I think that’s the only thing they agree on.”

“Probably,” Faye agreed. She looked him up and down. “Gods, though, I’m glad I don’t have to wear that stupid thing anymore. The color washes me out.”

“So you’re leaving because of fashion?”

He tried to keep the bitter edge from his voice, but judging from the way Faye’s expression softened, he wasn’t entirely successful.

“Shrimp…you know I’ll come visit.”

“I know,” he replied, forcing a smile. “Hey, I made it through years of school without you and Ce, I think I’ll survive.”

He wasn’t mad at her. He _wasn’t._ Faye wanted to travel, and for a few years now she’d chafed at the military structure. He understood completely why she would want to leave. It just felt a little bit like he’d finally made it to the party and now all the fun people were yawning and begging off.

“You’ll always have Cedar,” Faye said. Which was probably true. His other cousin, Faye’s brother, had assured him ten times over that he’d definitely be joining up. “And hey, you can come crash on my couch in Vacuo sometime. It’ll be a blast! I hear they have these giant sand crabs.”

“Sounds…fun,” Clover said, dry as the desert. “Summer in Vacuo. I might die.”

“Oh, _you_ would definitely die,” she replied, laughing. Faye motioned for him to turn around to face her. When he obliged, she grabbed one of his wrists and undid the little button at the cuff. “Loosen up, Shrimp,” she said, as she worked his sleeve up. When one sleeve was cuffed neatly above his elbow, she moved on to the other one. “Meet new people. Try new things. Get into a bit of trouble. _Flirt_ , I know you want to. You’re not under the Colonel’s roof anymore, it’s not like he can ground you.”

“Oh, he can do worse,” Clover said. He wasn’t sure _what_ , but he was sure he didn’t want to know.

“You could probably take him in a fight,” Faye assured him.

Gods, he would _never._

“And half your class,” Faye continued. “I saw the initiation footage, Shrimp. You’ll be fine.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Keep your footwork tight. Watch your right side.”

Clover tugged his arm back, laughing. “Okay, this has moved past life advice. Now you’re just picking apart my form.”

“I want a decent spar, next time I see you,” Faye said. She spun him around to look in the mirror. “Better?”

He gave an experimental roll of his shoulders. No rips. And he did feel less constrained, with his sleeves rolled up like this.

“Huh. Yeah.”

“See? I know fashion.” Faye said. She picked a thread from his collar, regarding his appearance for a long minute. Then something flickered in her eyes, and she gripped his shoulder tight.

“Faye?” he asked, turning to look at her.

She gave him a small, sad smile. “You, ah…you just look a lot like your mom, in that uniform. It really lets your eyes pop.”

Something in his chest clenched, like his heart was being squeezed by a clawed fist. His eyes flickered to the mirror, searching for something familiar. For teal-green eyes, crinkled with laugh lines.

He wondered if it would ever stop hurting.

“Sorry,” Faye said. “I shouldn’t have…”

“No,” he interrupted, reassuring her. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

Faye ruffled his hair again, and this time he let her. “If she could see you now, Shrimp…you know she’d be so proud.”

Clover didn’t want to think about that, really. And he especially didn’t want to get _emotional_ in the first week of school, with a bunch of people he’d just met. So he pushed it down, through his gut, along with the anxiety of trying to make friends and the weight of his father’s expectations and the constant pressure to be perfect at everything he did. Faye was right; he’d be fine.

“Even though I look dumb?” he joked. It sounded fake even to him.

“You don’t look dumb,” Faye said. Her expression was unusually sincere. She cupped his cheek. “You _are_ dumb.”

That drew a startled laugh from him. Genuine, this time. He shoved her, groaning.

“A big, dumb baby,” Faye continued.

“All right, don’t you have a transport to catch?” Clover said. “To another continent? Where I won’t have to see your stupid face all the time?”

“I’ll miss you, Shrimp.”

She pulled him in for a hug, which he reluctantly returned. Her ash-blond hair tickled his nose as they embraced. He was taller than her now; it wasn’t really fair that she and Cedar still called him that old nickname. But he couldn’t find it in himself to tell them to stop. It reminded him of simpler times, three feral children running free through the streets of Argus. Of sunshine and salt water and safe beds to come back to.

"I'll miss you, too."


	2. Leadership (Gen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Rating: Gen  
> Chapter Warnings: None

“You know, a good leader isn’t necessarily the strongest fighter.”

Clover straightened, putting his scroll away. “General Rhea. I didn’t see you come in, ma’am.”

In his defense, there were two other teams using the training room right now, and it was a bit of a chaotic mix. He was pretty sure Elm Ederne was going to put someone’s eye out before the hour was up. 

The General chuckled, putting up a hand. “At ease, Mr. Ebi. You’re not in my command yet.”

Of course, with his family it wasn’t really a question of if. Just when. Which would be in approximately four years.

“Of course,” he said, relaxing slightly. And then, because he couldn’t help it, “Ma’am.”

General Rhea nodded toward his team, facing off against Team ECHO and Team LMNT. It was the end of the day, and they were about to get kicked out for curfew. All semblance of structure had been lost at this point, and everyone was just fooling around. Unlike him, Elm was right in the fray, swinging her hammer with a joyous shout. Not sitting off to the side of the room and taking notes like a nerd.

“Tell me what you see.”

He blinked. General Rhea had one perfectly groomed eyebrow raised. Waiting.

Clover hesitated a moment before his own excitement got the better of him. He nodded his head toward Yola, who was toying with Thayne from team LMNT. “Yola likes to get close. She doesn’t look like she could take a big hit, but she hardly ever does. See how she’s using her semblance like a dash?”

On cue, the petite violet-haired girl teleported, phasing back in right at Thayne’s back. She landed a flurry of blows then teleported again, just before the muscular boy’s mace could connect.

“Missed me!” she taunted, blowing a raspberry as Thayne roared in frustration.

“I see why we would make good partners,” he continued. “My style is all about putting the opponent where I want them. Yola’s semblance lets her take advantage of that, getting her where she needs to be instantly. Plus, I can take the hits while she keeps floating.”

General Rhea nodded slowly. “Go on.”

Next, he gestured to Nico and Neve, effortlessly holding their ground against Elm and Ori. Nico fired a volley of electric arrows from his crossbow, then slashed the bow down into its bladed form to parry a strike from Ori’s katana. Who then took a hit from Neve’s shield, which she called back to her hand with her gravity-laced bracers just in time to block a swing from Elm. Clover winced. It was not a soft blow. Both girls grunted, as Neve’s semblance reflected back some of the damage.

“Nico and Neve have been working together all their lives. They basically already came as a package deal. What’s interesting is that Nico’s the ranged fighter and yet he loves to take risks. He sets up these crazy trick shots. Meanwhile Neve’s up there in the thick of it and she’s cool as a cucumber.”

Clover had spent a lot of time watching the twins. Well, one twin in particular.

“Hmm,” General Rhea said. “And how about their weaknesses?”

“Yola’s cocky, for one,” Clover said. “She’s quick to jump in. And because she never gets hit she’s not used to taking them. One good strike would totally throw her off. Nico’s the opposite; it’s like he chokes when the stakes are high. He waits for the perfect shot when he should be striking, but he’s quick on the trigger when it doesn’t matter. Neve’s solid on offense or defense, but she’s as by the book as they come. And she’s always keeping an eye on Nico.”

The General nodded. “Excellent, Mr. Ebi. I happen to agree with every point.”

Clover couldn’t help the little swell of pride at that.

“And what about you, Mr. Ebi? How would you rate yourself?”

Clover flushed. “Er, well. I don’t really use dust, so I probably do the least damage of anyone on the team. And my semblance is…unreliable.”

That was an understatement. Clover was getting the hang of how to direct his luck toward himself, but using it to help his team and not _everyone else,_ _Grimm included_ was a mess. For every stupidly impressive trick shot Nico landed, there was an equal lucky blow from one of their opponents.

As for his weapon, well…Clover thought he could be forgiven for indulging a little _fun._ It wasn’t traditional or heavy or even outwardly destructive. But its hook was razor-sharp, its line strong. Kingfisher raised a few eyebrows, but it was pure joy in his hand.

“Hmm,” General Rhea hummed, eyes on the other students in the practice room. He studied her profile, the gray hair tied back into a stern bun. The weathered lines of her face, her lips pulled into a now-familiar expression of reluctant amusement. “True, yes. I happen to agree with all of that as well. And I can think of a few more comments to add. But I stand by what I said, Mr. Ebi. Good leaders aren’t always the flashiest, or the strongest. They’re the ones that can pick out those qualities in others. Grow the best of them. Soften the worst. It’s not something you can teach overnight, and yet you’ve got it in spades. Your mother was exactly the same.”

Clover’s mouth fell open, at a loss for words. He’d known the General his whole life. This was unprecedented.

The General’s lips twitched. “That’s simply what _I_ see. And I’ve been doing this a very long time.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Clover replied. Because what else was he supposed to say to that?

“Anyway, I’ll let you get back to it,” General Rhea said. “I apologize for butting in on your practice; just out for a little late-night walk.”

Clover frowned. He pulled up a mental map of the Academy. The practice rooms were tucked away, out of the main drag of the campus. It wasn’t like you could just wander in from the courtyard. The only thing they were really close to was…

The elevators. To the medical wing.

He swallowed. “Everything all right, ma’am?”

The General shook her head, the picture of stoic professionalism once again. “Nothing for you students to worry about, yet. Certainly not first-years. Keep up the good work, Mr. Ebi. Professor Cronus and I are quite eager to see what you and your team are capable of. Make Atlas proud.”

It chafed a bit, being compared to every Ebi who had passed through these halls. But at the same time, it drove him. Made him want to live up to that legacy. For Atlas. For his new team. For his father. For his _mother._ For whoever it was that had the General pacing the halls at night.

Clover squared his jaw, holding his stance under her steely gaze. “I won’t let you down, ma’am.”


	3. Color (Gen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter rating: G  
> Chapter warnings: none
> 
> One! More! Teen! Clover! 
> 
> ...actually there will be many more teen Clovers, but next chapter we'll take a break for some completely dumb Adult Clover shit.

Despite what people liked to think, Clover did not have a rival. He certainly didn’t have a _nemesis._ And if he did, it would absolutely not be Elm Ederne, who had been nothing but kind to him since day one. He and Elm could get competitive, sure, but at the end of the day it all washed away with the sweat and occasional blood of the practice room.

If anything, he blamed himself. For slipping up, sure. But mostly because he’d foolishly chosen a top bunk.

Clover made another go at it, but even raising his arms to the ladder made his ribs scream in protest. It had been a long day. He was _exhausted_ , and he just wanted to lie down. But every time he tried to get into his bunk, he nearly wept at the pain.

There was a swoosh of the door opening behind him. The sound of laughter and footsteps preceded his team’s entrance, and Clover winced. The last thing he needed was for all of them to see him like this. He girded himself to push the pain from his expression, and turned around.

Yola greeted him first, tossing her gloves onto the desk carelessly. “Hey, Lucky! Man, that was some match! Elm really nailed you, huh?”

“Did everything go okay at medical?” Neve asked, setting her shield next to her bunk rather more carefully. She tucked a stray wisp of silver hair behind her ear, then began methodically unlatching her bracers, sparing him the occasional concerned look.

“All clear,” Clover replied, pretending like he’d gone. It was just that Elm looked so _guilty_ , and he’d already made enough of a scene. “Nothing a good night’s rest won’t fix.”

“I’ll make sure these two don’t keep you up,” Neve said, with a reassuring smile. She was quietly cleaning up after Yola, rearranging each discarded item as the shorter girl dug through her bottom drawer.

“I resent that implication,” Nico said, coming up next to him. He hung his crossbow on its rack and immediately began stripping. Clover blushed, looking away.

“Lucky, you won’t believe what happened after you left,” Nico continued, oblivious. His jacket landed somewhere in the vicinity of his desk chair, and he darted around to Clover’s other side, keeping his attention as he started unbuttoning his shirt. Cornered, Clover tried to focus on _only Nico’s face,_ and not the inches of smooth skin being slowly revealed. “Okay, so Professor Gage put me with Hestia again, which is _obviously_ retaliation for the cafeteria thing. And get it, so she says to me—“

“Nico,” Neve cut in. “What did I just say?”

“It’s a good story! Lucky, am I bothering you?” Nico asked.

“N-no, you’re good!” Clover replied, too quick. He mentally kicked himself. Then mentally winced. Gods, he wanted to lie down. Instead he was paralyzed with pain and hormones at the base of his bunk, gripping the rung of the ladder for support. “So what happened?”

“See?” Nico said, shooting his sister a look. “Clover thinks I’m funny.”

He punctuated this by wrapping an arm around Clover’s shoulders, pulling him into a one-armed-hug as if to show off his audience. Clover yelped at the sudden movement, his hand flying to his ribs.

“Whoa, easy,” Nico said, relaxing his hold. “You okay?”

“The guy just took a hammer to the chest, dummy,” Yola said, rising from her crouch with a pair of designer sweatpants slung over her shoulder.

“I’m fine,” Clover assured them. But Nico’s nimble fingers were already at the hem of his t-shirt, lifting it up to expose the angry purple bruises decorating his right side. 

“Holy shit, Lucky…” Nico marveled, fingertips gently tracing the mottled skin. Clover suppressed a shiver. “You didn’t say it was this bad. Ederne really _did_ nail you, huh?”

“It was an accident,” Clover insisted. “Really, it looks worse than it is.”

“Did they at least give you some painkillers?” Neve asked, coming over. She frowned as she took in the damage. “Or something to boost your aura?”

“Ice wouldn’t hurt, either,” Yola remarked, joining them.

Well, this was exactly what he didn’t want to happen. His whole team scrutinizing him. And Nico _still_ had his hand on Clover’s chest, the barest caress of a warm palm against his bruised skin.

“Um…” Clover started.

“You didn’t go, did you?”

Nico’s golden eyes met his, an unfamiliar glint of sharpness to them. Clover opened his mouth, then shut it. Nico let out a breath. His fingertips curled against Clover’s side, trailing the edges of the distinctly Timber-shaped bruise. “Idiot. You’re as purple as Yola’s hair, and you think you’re just gonna walk it off?”

“No,” Clover said, defensive. “I…was gonna sleep it off.”

There was a brief silence. Nico’s eyes flickered to the ladder, then back to Clover. “Oh?”

“Clover, you could have a cracked rib,” Neve said, gently. “That’s not a minor injury.”

“I think it’s just bruised,” he said. He might as well have been referring to his ego.

Nico rolled his eyes, then directed him to sit on the bottom bunk. He kept one arm wrapped under Clover’s, hand at the center of his back for stability. “All right, tough guy. You can sleep in my bed ‘till you’re healed.”

Clover’s face flushed as Nico piled pillows behind him, helping him to recline at a slight angle. The sheets smelled like Nico’s cologne, something expensive and delicately spiced.

“How’s that, too much pressure on your tailbone?” Nico asked, fussing over him.

“My ass is fine, thanks,” Clover replied.

“Damn straight,” Nico said, shooting him a wink.

Clover laughed, then winced. “Ow. Maybe save your funny story for now.”

“It wasn’t funny, it was self-aggrandizing,” Neve said, peering over Nico’s shoulder. Behind her, he spotted Yola grabbing something from the mini-fridge. “Just like all his stories.”

Yola pushed past the twins, handing him an ice pack wrapped in a towel. “Here, put this where there’s any swelling. That should speed things up.”

“If it’s still bad tomorrow, you’re seeing a doctor,” Neve commanded. Ever the responsible one.

“I really don’t want Elm to feel bad,” he pleaded. At least he had a good two days before Cedar’s team got back from their mission and his cousin started babying him. Gossip spread like wildfire around here. Especially about him. He _definitely_ didn’t want anyone calling his father about this.

“We can call our family’s doctor,” Nico said, with a dismissive wave. “He’s very discreet. Don’t worry about it.”

Rich kids. Gods.

Clover placed the ice pack against his side, grimacing at the cold. Nico pulled the blankets up, tucking them loosely around his torso. “I don’t think I have any painkillers, but I’ve got some vodka under the mattress if you want it.”

“Nico,” Neve sighed, a palm to her face. “No.”

“No,” Clover agreed.

“Later,” Yola said.

“Why not both?” Nico asked, with a roguish grin.

Clover’s lips twitched, and he let his eyes close. He drifted off to the sounds of his three teammates arguing over when and where and with which libations they were going to get him drunk. It was strange. They had nothing to gain from helping him, and yet…here they were, being so nice. But maybe that was the key. What did Yola and the twins need from him, that they couldn’t already get? Through money, or fame, or connections? What use would _they_ have for his luck?

Faye’s words from the beginning of the semester came back to him. Loosen up. Put himself out there. Make friends.

Maybe this time things would be different.


	4. Sea (Iron Dragon's Charms)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's...a bit of Iron Dragon's Charms, idk what I'm even doing anymore. If The Orange One loses I promise the spicy conclusion and just generally like 500% more smut. Until then I remain a ball of anxiety, like everyone else!
> 
> Chapter Rating: M for mmmmmmmentions of spice! And adult negotiations of polyamory!  
> Chapter warnings: None, except the above mentioned. If you've read my other stuff this will seem tame, but for one extra himbo.

What was there to do, after saving the world, besides go to the beach?

Plenty. There was plenty to do, and if you asked James he could keep listing and listing and listing and he would only stop listing _all the things_ that needed to happen so that he could actually go, well, _do some of them._ But no one had asked James. They had asked Ruby Rose. Who had asked, nay _ordered_ her Uncle Qrow to take a vacation. Who had convinced Clover. Who had then joined forces with Qrow to drag along James.

James didn’t get a lot of vacations in. But Argus was a compromise, what with its proximity to Atlas. He felt marginally better about lying around doing nothing with a private ship and an Atlas base in town that could whisk him back at a moment’s notice. He wasn’t much of a beach type, but the town had its benefits. The views were magnificent. The architecture was stunning. The restaurants were top-notch. But also, it was Clover’s favorite place in the entire world. He had cousins here, and the city held fond childhood memories. And James _really_ liked making Clover happy.

Still, James took it upon himself to improve the situation. For the benefit of all, but…also himself, that meant renting an enormous beach house. Not only would they have a ridiculous amount of room to spread out, but the private access point to the beach meant they’d have the shoreline mostly to themselves. Away from prying eyes who might, say, give his metal prosthetics a side-eye. Or sell photos of him in shorts to the press. The privacy was key. Clover raised an eyebrow and Qrow called him an elitist pig, up until the two saw the kitchen and bedroom, respectively.

And so now he was sitting on a deck chair, in a frankly ridiculous floral-patterned shirt, sipping a tropical juice of some sort and fretting about whether sand was going to gunk up his joints. Pietro had given him a special device to blow out any stray particles, but what did he know? They didn’t have _sand_ in Atlas.

The cherry on top, the one purely altruistic contribution he’d made to this little endeavor, was to fly in Taiyang Xiao Long to see his daughters. And also his dog.

Qrow swore the latter was not a bonus.

While his relationship with Tai had been…limited, the last few years, they were well acquainted enough. Qrow and Tai obviously had a long and storied history. The big unknown was when he and Qrow introduced Clover. Though he tried to hide it, Clover was nervous. Qrow’s family was so important to him. James could certainly relate to the desire to please, to make their boyfriend happy. He shouldn’t have worried, though. The two got on swimmingly.

Emphasis on swimming.

James watched Clover and Tai frolicking in the ocean with the young Huntsmen and Huntresses. They were like a couple of sea nymphs, all sun-kissed skin and golden highlights. Clover yelped as Taiyang leaned over and caught him around the middle, dunking the younger man into the surf. What followed was an all-out splash war, both men trying to one-up the other. And apparently having a hell of a time doing it.

Closer to the shore, Zwei ran back and forth in the shallow waves. He barked at the display, eager to join in on the fun but understandably cautious to enter the deep water. Tai paused to scoop him up, holding the dog like a shield, immediately melting Clover’s offense. Taking advantage of the vulnerability, Tai launched the dog, whom Clover caught with a surprised shout. The shock of it caused him to fall back onto his backside into the surf, the pull of the waves sweeping his feet out from under him. It was with a good-natured laugh that Clover conceded, still cradling Zwei to his bare chest, while Tai offered a muscled arm to help him up.

Hmm.

James knew Taiyang, sort of. By proxy. But James _knew_ Clover.

“Those two are about to hook up, aren’t they?” he murmured. Next to him, Qrow grumbled and swatted a sand crab from his feet. He looked up, taking in the scene.

Qrow tilted his head. “Yep. Yeah. Yes.”

“Are we…” James sent Qrow a panicked look. Clover _wouldn’t_ , not unless they gave the go ahead. But the thought that Taiyang even had his eye on Clover brought out a protective side of him. “Are we okay with this? Clover is _our_ boyfriend. And it’s—“

“Jim,” Qrow said, raising an eyebrow over his sunglasses. “It’s _Tai._ He’s not some rude Atlesian asshole.”

James glared. Qrow snorted, shaking his head.

“Don’t worry, I happen to like your Atlesian ass. Honestly, I’m fine with it. Heh, as long as we get to watch. Maybe join in a bit.”

James gave Qrow a betrayed look, as if to express, ‘ _et tu, Qrow?’_

“Look,” Qrow continued, jerking his head toward the two happy-go-lucky men. “I know Tai. He’s a good guy. But he’s got a life in Patch, and he’s invested there. You and Cloves are invested in Atlas. Tai’s not interested in breaking that up, or in moving in on your territory or whatever crazy shit you’re imagining right now. He’s just…y’know…”

“You’ve hooked up with him, haven’t you?”

“Oh, loads of times. Man, back in the day…”

James sighed. He probably should have seen that coming. “I’ve…never had to navigate these kinds of things. Before you.”

Qrow’s expression stilled, and he looked down. “…oh. Well, yeah, I…sorry I…”

“No, that’s a good thing!” James said, in a rush. “I mean, not that I hadn’t…just that you were there to…and I’m glad that we…”

“Don’t strain yourself,” Qrow said, bitterly.

James reached out, gripping the other man’s hand. “Qrow, you know I love you on your own merit. Not just because Clover loves you, too.”

“Oh,” Qrow said, flushing. “Uh. Same.”

Qrow shifted in his beach chair. James briefly glanced down, then found himself unable to look away. “Qrow…”

“Don’t judge me,” Qrow whined. Their hands were still clasped, and he felt Qrow’s palm go sweaty. “Look, I know Tai, okay? He’s no slouch. And we both know how Cloves gets when he’s…just _think about it_ , Jimmy.”

James thought. About Clover, flushed and sweating between them. The needy cries that he could spend all night drawing out, until Clover’s voice was raw and hoarse and his legs quivered and he was plainly _begging_ for how badly he wanted to—

“Should we,” James said. He rubbed his thumb across the back of Qrow’s hand. “Should we go inside for a bit?”

“I think the sun’s getting to me,” Qrow replied.

“Well,” he said, swallowing deeply. “Then we should retire immediately.”

“This salt water can’t be good for you.”

“No, I think I need a shower.”

“Me too,” Qrow said. “Let’s—“

“Hey, boys! Enjoying the view?”

He and Qrow both jumped and adjusted themselves. Clover winked, then bent to grab his towel. Sea water clung to his torso, like jewels that he brushed from his honey-gold skin. James had the overwhelming urge to tug him in and lick the salt from him. A quick glance to Qrow found him similarly distracted by the way Clover’s swim trunks clung to their boyfriend’s body. 

“It’s nice,” Qrow rasped.

Clover laughed, then leaned down to give each of them a quick kiss. He jerked a thumb down the shore, in the direction of the wharf. “I was gonna take Tai and the some of the kids down to the fish market to get stuff for dinner. Do either of you want to come?”

James and Qrow exchanged looks.

Clover blinked, waiting for a response. “What?”

“You two really…hit it off, I see,” James said.

“Uh,” Clover started. He threw a glance over his shoulder, where Tai was joking around with his daughters. “Well, I mean…Tai’s great, yeah. He’s just easy to get along with, y’know? And someone _finally_ appreciates my sense of humor! Plus he cooks, we have that in common.”

Clover’s train of thought rapidly dissolved into breathless rambling. “I’m gonna pry that banana bread recipe from him before the week is out, I swear. Oh! And we were thinking of getting a volleyball game together tomorrow. Some of the kids have never played. Doesn’t that sound fun?”

James took a moment to control his heartrate.

Qrow broke first. He groaned, slouching in his chair. “Cloves. I’m fucking dying. You’re killing me. You’re seriously gonna play _beach volleyball_ with Tai.”

Clover frowned. “Why not?”

“Because every time I think about you two flirting like that I want to watch him fuck you!”

Let the record state that Qrow said it first.

“E-excuse me?” Clover stammered. His tanned face went bright red, calling attention to the smattering of freckles that had formed over the last week. “I’m not…you really…first of all, beach volleyball is a no-contact sport. And Tai and I were talking about _baking!”_

“Baking. Sure.” Qrow replied. He waggled his eyebrows at Clover. “Because that’s not a turn-on for you.”

This, Clover could not deny. James leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. Which had the bonus effect of concealing the fact that he was half hard. “Darling, it’s perfectly all right if you want Taiyang to take you. Qrow and I have discussed it. As long as we’re present.”

Clover’s hands clenched around the ends of his towel. “You. You discussed that? You’re really okay with…you think he’d want to…”

“Don’t strain yourself,” Qrow teased, for the second time in ten minutes.

As if on cue, the man himself chose that moment to saunter over and sling an arm around Clover’s bare shoulders. Clover’s blush extended down his neck, impossible to hide in his shirtless state.

“We rolling out or what, Clove? Those fish aren’t about to fry themselves.” Tai asked. Then grinned. “Heh, Clove. Like the spice, get it? Or should I call you Sea Lover?”

Apparently Taiyang was five steps ahead of them, if he was already referring to Clover in that manner.

“About that,” James said, clearing his throat. How did one go about propositioning someone to sleep with one’s boyfriend, on behalf of himself and his other boyfriend? “You should know that the three of us have discussed it, and Clover returns your…interest. As do Qrow and I. If you’d care to join us after dinner, perhaps we could explore where this goes?”

There was a general silence. Qrow sighed. Tai blinked in surprise, his arm still hooked around Clover. Clover went red _all over_ , and covered his face with his hands.

“Did I…read the situation wrong?” James asked.

“ _James,”_ Clover groaned. “It was a joke.”

Now it was his turn to be confused. “Excuse me?”

Tai chuckled, sheepish. “Ahaha. Sea lover. For Clover.”

“You want Clover as your seaside lover,” he said. Clover groaned again. “And who wouldn’t? Darling, why are you upset?”

“Jim.” Qrow said, shaking his head. “We need to work on your flirting game. And Tai, you are the worst.”

“I thought it was good!”

“What am I…” James looked between the three of them. “Am I missing something?”

 _“The letter C plus ‘lover’ spells Clover!”_ Clover exclaimed.

Oh. Ah.

“That was a pun.”

Qrow hid a snort-laugh behind his palm. Not at the joke, he suspected.

“Ah,” he said, feeling his own face heat up. “And you enjoy fish.”

“Okay, come on, that’s not bad!” Tai protested. He mostly seemed concerned with his joke not landing.

“Normally I’d say if you have to explain it, it _is_ bad,” Qrow said, shaking his head. “But there’s no accounting for Jimmy.”

“It would be funnier if my boyfriend didn’t take it as an invitation to pimp me out,” Clover muttered.

“Oh,” Tai said, retracting his arm. “So, uh…was that not flirting? Because I was flirting.”

Clover blinked. “You were? I thought you were just being nice.”

“Oh, for the love of—“ Qrow threw up his hands. “Tai, you think Cloves is hot, right?”

“I thought it was obvious,” Tai said, with a shrug. Blunt as ever. He looked Clover’s form up and down. “You’re a good guy, Clover. I like you a lot. And you’re pretty easy on the eyes.”

“Good,” Qrow replied, before Clover could respond. “Tai, you know I think _you’re_ hot. Jimmy and Clover and I are obviously all into each other. Jimmy, you think Tai’s hot?”

James swallowed. All eyes turned to him. “You’re…a very attractive man, Taiyang.”

The blond grinned. “Same to you, James. Though you could learn to appreciate a good joke.”

“Maybe one will show up, one of these days,” Qrow shot back. He turned to Clover, who was watching the whole thing unfold with a kind of vaguely aroused bewilderment. “Okay, Cloves, that’s all the information. Tai’s into you, we’re into Tai being into you, and we’re on vacation. What you say to him coming up to our room tonight and pounding you into the mattress?”

Tai raised his hand. “I vote yes.”

James raised his for good measure. Clover’s eyes met his, and the younger man bit his lip as he considered the offer. “You’re…really trying to set me up with someone. Else.”

“But we want to be there too,” James said, clarifying. “To…watch. And maybe…participate.”

“Even better,” Tai said. “You know, it works the other way too. Because you can’t spell Clover without—“

“If you finish that thought I’m retracting my consent to this,” Qrow interrupted, putting a palm up. Taiyang’s mouth snapped shut.

Clover let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. His posture loosened, sliding into the easy confidence that had drawn James in long ago.

“Well,” he said, meeting each of their eyes in turn. “More for me, I guess. Tai, have I told you about my prize catch, yet? It was an exquisite bass.”

The blond man grinned ear to ear. “Oh yeah? It must have taken a pretty big pole.”

“Oh, it was a lot to reel in,” Clover said, with a wink. “But I’m not the type to back down from a challenge.”

“I bet you krilled it,” Tai responded.

James turned to Qrow, at a loss. Qrow rolled his eyes and tugged him toward the house. “All right, get it out of your systems now!” he called over his shoulder, pulling James across the beach. They hadn’t even cleaned up their things.

“Should we…”

“Nah,” Qrow said. “They’re gonna be at it for a while, might as well give them a job to do. If they’re still going at it after dinner we can just gag them both.”

James had no objection to that.


	5. Masks (Fairgame)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Rating: T  
> Chapter warnings: none
> 
> CRACK CRACK CRACK THIS IS CRACK

“Come to get some air?”

Qrow startled, then whirled around. Upon seeing Clover he relaxed, the tightness in his shoulders smoothing out. Gods, he looked handsome, dressed up like this. He was like a work of art, all long-limbed and graceful. The elaborate mask, adorned with a multitude of black feathers, only completed the look.

“Oh, hey Lucky Charm,” Qrow said, an easy smile tugging at his mouth.

Clover tilted his head, grinning. “Am I Clover, good sir? Or am I just a dashing stranger, appearing in the night?”

Qrow snorted, and Clover’s heart swelled at the genuine laugh that followed. He sauntered over to the railing of the balcony, putting a little sway in his step. To his surprise, Qrow tugged him in by the waist, and he had to brace himself on the railing to keep them both from pitching right over. Qrow’s hands went lower, pushing up under the tails of his tuxedo coat to firmly cup his ass.

“Yep,” Qrow said, his crimson eyes teasing behind his mask. “Definitely Clover. Mmm, you’re warm.”

Qrow’s chest was flush against his, and Clover was all too happy to act as the man’s personal heater. But he figured a token protest was probably in order.

“How forward of you, sir!” he gasped, mock offended even as he leaned into the touch. “Do you always greet new and completely unrecognizable people in such a way?”

“Unrecognizable my ass,” Qrow said, giving Clover’s apparently recognizable ass a good squeeze. “I could spot you from a mile away. Surprised you even got those arms of yours in a coat.”

“It was a true feat of engineering getting this tailored,” Clover said. He leaned in, his arms bracketing Qrow on either side, until their lips were nearly touching. The feathers of Qrow’s mask tickled his forehead.

“You know, stranger,” he purred. Qrow nearly shuddered against him. Clover could feel his heart racing. “If your hands are cold, I can think of somewhere warmer to put them.”

“Me too,” Qrow rasped.

And then he plunged his hands into Clover’s pants.

Clover yelped at the icy fingers suddenly gripping his bare flesh. Gods, his hands were _freezing_. And the _rings_. He squirmed, Qrow holding firm as Clover flailed in his grasp. His laughter in Clover’s ear was both a delight and a torture.

“ _Brothers_ , Qrow, have you ever heard of _gloves?”_

“Nah, I like this way better,” Qrow said. “So now you’re okay with acknowledging me?”

“Qrow,” he managed, still reeling from the cold. “You are the only person on Remnant that I would allow to use my ass as a hand warmer.”

Frankly, Qrow could use his ass for anything he wanted. Even if it spoiled his little roleplay idea. Though now he was getting some _other_ ideas, involving Qrow’s hands and his ass. But those ideas would have to wait for a time when they weren’t on a _balcony_ at a _national ball_.

“Your fault for being so hot,” Qrow replied, with a triumphant smirk.

Clover leaned into him, giving in and covering as much of Qrow’s body as possible with his own. Sure, they could just go inside and warm up. And sure, his asscheeks could be nice and toasty, instead of slowly going numb from Qrow’s ice claws. But the night air was crisp, and the balcony was deserted. And for a moment the two of them could just rest and be alone with each other, with nothing between them to hide.


	6. Work/Play (Ironluck) (Smut)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SMUT SMUT SMUT THIS ONE IS SMUT
> 
> **Chapter Rating: Explicit  
> **  
>  Chapter warnings: Just some slightly kinky but totally consensual office sex between two adults. Featuring James's desk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dedicate this to Harostar, who upon learning of James's semblance, immediately started thinking of what kinda kinky shit he would use it for in bed.

Clover considered himself an expert in getting out of tight spaces. Close calls, near misses, impossible situations. They all resolved eventually, for the better, and it had happened so many times over the years that he was no longer shaken by them. A moment of consideration, a little call of thanks to the gods, and he was on to the next task.

However, the particular tight space he was in at the moment was proving to be a significantly stickier situation. His endurance was flagging, there was no resolution in sight, and worst of all he’d put himself there in the first place.

He pulled off of James’s cock and sat back on his heels, at least as much as he could from underneath the enormous desk. Groaning, he worked his aching jaw, trying to alleviate some of the stiffness that was forming. James spared him a look of acknowledgement, a little half smile of ‘ _oh, do you want a break?’_ , then went right back to work.

“Are you…” Even Clover was surprised at how hoarse he sounded. “Are you _using your semblance_ to keep from coming?”

James just gave a little hum, eyes on his screen. “I told you I had work to do, Clover. You’re the one who insisted.”

Clover had insisted because he was sure once they got going James would start taking a more, ah, active role in the matter. Instead he was resolutely focused on his work, and if it weren’t for the fact that his cock was rock hard and twitching on Clover’s tongue, he would think the man wasn’t interested at all.

“James. It’s late.” Clover said.

“Which is why I need to finish,” James replied. He tapped at something on his scroll, frowning at whatever he saw. Clover wondered if he’d even actually gotten anything done this whole time of if he was going to wake up to twelve texts from Winter asking him to decipher some utter nonsense the General had written.

“Exactly,” Clover murmured. He leaned in again, mouthing at the sensitive tip of James’s cock. James tensed under his touch, just a bare gasp leaving his lips, before his mouth formed a firm line. But still, he held firm. In more ways than one.

Clover pouted. “Would you just fuck my mouth already? Obviously I’m boring you.”

James cupped his cheek, gazing at down at him fondly. “Darling, your talents are as impressive as ever. And I assure you I’m enjoying it. I simply have a mountain of paperwork to finish. Aren’t you the one who’s so fond of multitasking?”

Clover had exactly one job he was interested in right now, and it was blow. Also, his knees hurt. And he wanted to go get dinner. Maybe something…soft. Soothing. Like soup.

He whined, nuzzling against James’s cock and giving it a few affectionate strokes. “But baby, I want to taste you.”

“Hmm, I suppose you’ll have to work a bit harder, then.”

He took James in his mouth again, looking up through his lashes the way James always liked. And then sank _all_ the way down, taking as much as he could and humming a little pattern as he bobbed his head. James just turned back to his reports, as if he didn’t have the tip of his cock touching the back of Clover’s throat. A feat which had taken a _lot_ of practice, and which deserved a lot more recognition than it was getting.

Fine.

Clearly, he had to get serious. Clover pulled off of James’s cock with a wet pop. After a brief stretch of his jaw, he started licking and kissing his way down, paying special attention to the thick vein on the underside. Every lick was followed by a firm stroke of his hand. Gods, James had a nice dick. He could say that much.

He felt James’s thigh quiver under his other hand as he reached the base. Clover paused there for a second, letting James just feel his breath. And then he darted his tongue out, delicately licking James’s balls.

James drew in a sharp breath, his hips jerking. Bingo. Clover smirked, then gently took them in his mouth. The effect was instant. It was like a switch had flipped, James crying out as Clover played with him.

“Clo— _Clover…!”_ James gasped, his voice strained.

Clover was unrelenting, lavishing attention one side then the other. The taste was heavy on his tongue, making him feel a bit lightheaded. Combined with the lack of oxygen before, he felt almost euphoric. He let himself get lost in the feel of James, the taste, the groans from above him guiding his tongue.

A gloved hand grasped the tuft of hair on his head and tugged _hard_ , pulling him off. He had one brief moment to suck in a breath before James shoved his head back down, onto his cock. Clover opened his throat on instinct, moaning around James’s member as James moved his hand to the back of Clover’s head. Holding him in place while James fucked his throat. All restraint had been thrown aside, and there was no doubt now as to where James’s focus was.

With one, two, _t_ _hree_ deep thrusts James was coming, a bitter splash at the back of Clover’s throat. He had no choice but to swallow, James’s hand holding him firmly in place. James groaned as Clover’s throat convulsed around his cock. Even with his years of practice, it was a struggle not to gag.

“Take it,” James instructed, caressing his cheek as a final spurt threatened to spill out of Clover’s lips. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it, Darling?”

Clover obliged, swallowing every last drop. James’s hold relaxed, and he pulled back. He gasped for breath, resting his forehead against James’s thigh. James stroked his hair, the touch gentle in the aftermath.

“Fuck…” he rasped. His throat felt raw. And he was still painfully hard. Honestly, any more of that and he might have just come in his pants from the rush of it all.

James tugged off his glove so he could run a thumb along Clover’s swollen lips. “You are an absolute menace, you know that?”

“I try,” Clover replied, grinning up at him.

James huffed out a laugh. He glanced down, at the bulge in Clover’s slacks. “Well? Do I get to see you touch yourself, or do I have to do everything?”

That was all the permission Clover needed. He groaned as he freed himself, taking his cock in his hand. It was quick work; half leaning his head on James’s leg, the smell of sex in his nostrils as his hand quickened between his spread legs. James kept stroking his hair, urging him on with murmured words as their eyes locked. Clover bit his lip as he neared the edge. He was so close, had been waiting so _long_. With a final cry he came, burying his face in James’s thigh as he spilled into his palm.

Clover slumped against James’s lap, going a bit boneless. Gods, maybe he should just…sleep here. He raised his hand to his face, sticky with his own release, considering the mess.

Well. In for a penny, in for a pound. He raised his hand, licking the come off in a few efficient swipes of his tongue.

James made a choked sort of sound, watching him in bewildered amusement. “Clover. I have tissues.”

“This way’s cleaner,” he replied. He’d always been a bit paranoid about the trash can in James’s office being declared some kind of biohazard. Better to stack the odds in his favor, when he could. It wasn’t like he was licking it off the _floor_ , or even the desk. But his own hand? Pssht. Nothing.

James shook his head, pushing his chair back. Clover groaned as his support moved away. But James leaned in, helping him up on shaky legs. Clover leaned against the desk for support, half sitting, while James tucked them both away. When everyone was decent again James stood, cupping Clover’s cheek. His thumb reached out again, brushing at Clover’s lips.

“You have,” he said. “The absolute filthiest mouth in Remnant. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. That was lovely, Clover.”

The man was impossible.

Clover grinned, still a bit sex-silly, contemplating what a giant sap his boyfriend was. His boyfriend who had just absolutely _wrecked_ Clover’s throat, at his own request. “So. Are you finished now?”

James nodded his head, indicating his computer screen. Which was displaying the exact same science report James had been working on when Clover first got here. All that, and he hadn’t accomplished a _single thing_.

Clover cleared his throat. It felt like sandpaper.

“Sir,” he teased, his grin blooming full on his face despite the fatigue. “I may not work as much as you, but at least I know how to get the job done.”


	7. Uncertainty (Clover/OC)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Rating: T  
> Chapter Warnings: none
> 
> Aaaaaaand we're back to Academy Clover! Clover's about 20 here, Cedar maybe 22-23.

Clover was coming back from class, joking with his team as they strolled through the halls, when a shout from behind him caught his attention.

“Shrimp! Wait up!”

Clover paused, turning around. His cousin Cedar jogged up to them, still in uniform and fresh off a shift by the look of it. Beside him, his teammates snickered at the nickname.

“Shut it,” he said, glaring at Yola in particular. Someone who came up to his armpit shouldn’t be able to give him so much shit. If anyone was the shrimp, it was her.

Nico leered at him, waggling his eyebrows. “Yeah, guys. There’s nothing shrimpy about our fearless leader. Right, Luck Bug?”

Clover went a bit red.

“Family doesn’t need to hear about these things, Nico,” Neve chided. “I’m sure Private Ebi would agree.”

“Agree about what?”

Cedar reached their little group, greeting them with a wide smile. Well, three of them. Nico got the cold shoulder.

“Nothing,” Clover said, giving his team a warning look. He didn’t need Cedar punching anyone else this year. Or this month. “Go on. I’ll catch up later, guys.”

Cedar nodded his salutations and Yola and Neve continued on down the hall with a wave, but Nico hung back. Clover was deathly worried he was going to something dumb like _kiss him_ , but Nico settled for a smoldering look.

“Don’t be too long, Lucky,” he said, giving Clover’s hand a squeeze before walking off. Clover watched him go, helplessly entranced by the grace and strength in his long limbs.

Cedar cleared his throat. “You done mooning?”

Clover was jerked from his thoughts, and he turned his attention back to his cousin. “Sorry. What’s up? Didn’t think I’d see you around this part of the base.”

Cedar tugged his cap off, running a hand through his thick hair. He looked a bit sheepish. “Oh, uh…Val wanted to see the library, so I was showing her around.”

Clover raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Showing her around the library, huh?”

“We’re just friends!” Cedar protested, going all the way red. “Us Argus natives have to stick together, okay?”

“In the library?”

“Not everyone fools around in the History section, Shrimp.”

“Philosophy,” he corrected. There was a little study nook at the end of the last row with a bad lightbulb. In the three years he’d been at the Academy, no one had ever reported it to maintenance.

Cedar made a face. “Great,” he said. “Well, we stuck to science. Hey, glad I ran into you though. We haven’t talked in a while. You should come over for dinner! We can make something?”

This had been their thing, lately. Ever since Cedar had graduated, he’d been branching out one dish as a time. Clover was no stranger to fending for himself in the kitchen, but he just…didn’t _know_ a lot. It wasn’t like there was someone around he could ask. The two of them had just figured out spaghetti and meatballs, after a lot of trial and error. It was nice having access to Cedar’s apartment, cramped as it was, to experiment. The lack of kitchen space was made up for by the additional lack of his father.

“…yeah, okay,” Clover agreed, mulling over the possibilities for dishes he wanted to try. He paused. “Uh. Can Nico come?”

Cedar scowled. “No way.”

“Ce—“

“Shrimp, no. Come on. This can be like…a boys’ night. When was the last time we had one of those?”

“Nico’s a boy,” Clover pointed out. It was one of his favorite things about him.

“Exactly the problem,” Cedar said, rolling his eyes. “Sorry, Shrimp, I just hate that kid.”

“He’s not a kid,” Clover protested. “He’s the same age as me!”

“And you’re a _baaaaaby,”_ Cedar teased, grabbing Clover in a headlock. Clover yelped, struggling in his grip. Even though Clover had the height advantage, Cedar was wickedly good at grappling.

Clover went straight for the nuclear option. He stuck his tongue out, licking his cousin’s hand where it was braced under his chin. Cedar made a noise of disgust, retracting his arm. Clover laughed, wiping his mouth on the rolled cuff of his uniform sleeve.

“So Nico can come?” he asked.

“Absolutely not,” Cedar said, holding firm in attitude if not in posture.

Clover frowned, annoyed. “What do you have against my team?”

“I don’t have anything against two thirds of your team,” Cedar replied, wiping his hand on his pants. He shook his head. “Though I think Neve’s the only one who’s got her head on straight. At least Yola’s harmless.”

“And Nico’s not?” he said, wheedling for more. Cedar’s brow went tight, and he clenched his first at his side.

“He’s _not_ anywhere near good enough for you!” Cedar cried. “He’s obviously using you, Shrimp! You’re just a…a _toy_ to him! Something _fun_ he can play with and then _drop_ once he gets bored.”

Clover drew in a sharp breath. The silence dragged on between them, as Clover tamped down the hurt from the harsh words. Cedar deflated, looking instantly regretful.

“Oh gods, Shrimp, I—“

“You’re wrong,” Clover ground out. “Nico’s different, okay? Maybe if you were actually around more you’d know that.”

“Shrimp…Clover.” Cedar said, reaching out. “I just don’t want you to get hurt, okay?”

Clover jerked his arm back. “Look, just because you’re too much of a coward to tell a girl you like her doesn’t mean _I_ have to be miserable and alone, too. I’ll see you around, okay?”

He stalked down the hall back to his dorm, his thoughts clouding his head. Cedar was _wrong_ , right? Nico cared about him. Cedar was just jealous that he was the happy one, for once. That stupid lonely little Clover was the top of his class and everyone liked him and he had a hot, rich boyfriend who adored him. That now he had _real friends_ , other than just his cousins.

Neve and Yola were already at the mess hall when he got back, but Nico was waiting up for him. Alone together, Nico wasted no time in snaking his arms around Clover’s neck and pulling him in for a kiss. Clover melted into it, letting the stress of his argument flow away under Nico’s carefree attention.

“What was all that about?” he asked, nibbling at Clover’s earlobe. Clover shuddered from the feel of it, all his doubts dripping through his mind as if caught in a loose sieve.

“Just…family stuff,” Clover gasped, as Nico pushed him back onto his bed. “Nico…!”

“Come on, we never get the room to ourselves,” Nico said, stripping off his shirt. “Let’s have a little fun, huh?”

Cedar’s words echoed through his mind. _Something fun_.

That’s…that wasn’t this. Not at all. This was more.

Clover pushed the doubt from his mind, and tugged his boyfriend in for another kiss.


	8. Optimism (Ironluck)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Rating: Hard M to light E. The end had a bit of self-service, if you know what I'm saying  
> Chapter Warnings: None. 
> 
> First in a two-parter! Hmmm for some reason I just wanted to write something that took place pre-series and maybe some different decisions led people down some different paths. No reason for all for that! Also here's Winter and Clover being bros, which I always want. 
> 
> All of these generally have been compliant with my OT3 fic, I'll Keep It With Mine, but this is the first one to serve as a direct prequel. This takes place not long after Beacon, pre-V7. You don't need to have read that fic at all to enjoy this, but if you did here's a nice bonus!

General Ironwood was not looking good.

Well. In a sense. James always looked _good_ , and Clover couldn’t say he wasn’t a fan of the stubble that the General had been sporting lately. He just thought it would look better if it were intentional, and less like the man hadn’t slept or bathed in a week. The bags under his eyes didn’t help his appearance. Nor the weary line of his shoulders, as if he could barely lift his metal half.

Clover hesitated as the General dismissed him and Winter, hanging back. He’d known the man for a decade. Surely he could say something.

James glanced up from his scroll. “Yes, Clover?”

“Sir,” Clover started, taking a cautious track with it. “When was the last time you took a break?”

James waved him off. “Don’t worry about me. I don’t need a break.”

“Fifteen minutes,” Clover tried. Though what James _really_ needed, he suspected, was a good eight to ten hours. Preferably unconscious. “I was about to head to the mess hall for a coffee, why don’t you come along?”

“Maybe some other time,” James said, giving him a tight smile. “Anything else, Clover?”

That was a clear dismissal. Well, at least he’d tried.

“No, sir.”

Winter was waiting in the rotunda when he walked out. She fell into step beside him, heading to the elevators.

“Clover,” she started. “I…wanted to ask you something. About General Ironwood.”

“If it’s _‘does he look like shit to you,’_ then yes. I do think that.” He replied. Clover didn’t like taking his emotions out on others, but a hint of frustration probably crept into his voice nonetheless. 

“I wouldn’t have put it like that,” Winter said, awkwardly. “But…yes, I was concerned.”

“I just tried talking to him, and he won’t hear it,” Clover said, reaching out and punching the button for the elevator. He sighed. “It’s been like this since Beacon.”

“Can you blame him?” Winter said, looking up sharply. Of course. Her sister had been there, hadn’t she? He was reminded of how _young_ Winter was, not long out of the Academy herself. The frustration went out of him in a breath, and he gave her a kind smile.

“Of course not,” he said. He put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s been a stressful time for everyone. But none of us are doing the world any favors if we run ourselves ragged in the process, right? That goes for you too, Winter.”

Winter’s shoulders sagged, a rare crack in her composure. “Of course.”

The elevator doors slid open, and he gave Winter’s shoulder a squeeze before motioning for her to enter. “Hey, why don’t we grab a cup of coffee?” he asked, leaning over her to push the button for the main floor. “Just you and me. If I can’t get the General to take a break, at least I can treat you.”

Winter blinked. She drew herself up, her usual impeccable posture restored. “Captain, that’s very kind but I’m afraid I have to decline.”

Clover laughed. “It’s back to Captain now? At least use my name if you turn me down.”

“Clover. I’m gay.”

“Um,” Clover blinked. “Okay. Me too?”

“ _What?_ ”

“What?”

Winter shook her head. “Were you not propositioning me?”

“I’m like…incredibly gay,” Clover said, flabbergasted. Did Winter really think he was hitting on her? He thought everyone knew; it’s not like he tried to hide it. Actually, he kind of advertised it. For dating purposes. “Seriously, I’ve never even been with a woman. I’ve only ever kissed a girl once, and it was in fifth grade. And for the record, it was not consen—“

“I don’t need details.” Winter said. Her pale cheeks were a bit pink. “So coffee is just…coffee.”

“Just a friendly coffee,” Clover assured her. Winter was a lovely young woman, but he was more attracted to the coffee than he was to her.

“Oh,” Winter said. She was studying the floor rather intently. “Good. Well…”

She took a breath, gathering her composure before meeting his gaze. “Make it tea, and I’m in.”

The elevator doors slid open, and Clover grinned. “Great!” he chirped, leading her toward the mess hall. “Just two gay friends, drinking their respective beverages!”

Winter put a hand to her temple. “Oh, gods…you’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“No no, it’s a perfectly normal thing to say,” he teased. “I say it every morning. Just a little affirmation to start the day.”

“Please stop.”

“I say it when I pick up my mail, of course. _‘Anything for Clover Ebi? I’m gay.’_ ”

Elm and Vine passed them on their way into the mess hall. They’d just finished up by the look of it. “Hey, boss!” Elm greeted.

“Hey Elm!” he said, giving her shoulder a friendly bump. “Winter and I were just grabbing a hot drink. Also I’m gay.”

Vine raised an eyebrow. Elm gave him a thumbs up. “Yeah you are! Catch you later!”

Winter looked like she wanted to sink into the floor.

Clover had pity eventually, and the conversation flowed a bit more naturally as they enjoyed their beverages of choice. It was nice, just chatting with Winter like this. She could be so guarded, so formal. Clover couldn’t imagine what it must have been like, growing up as a Schnee.

“…and then that _drunken idiot_ had the nerve to tell me I needed to loosen up, and _offered his services_. As if I was one of his giggling bar maids!”

“Bet you told him where to stick it,” Clover said. Winter was short on divulging personal details, but once he got her complaining about straight men she was on a roll. This particular guy had dominated the last ten minutes. Clover had lost track of the name already, besides that it was something crazy like Hawk or Goose or something.

Winter smirked. “I may have drawn a sword of my own.”

Clover snorted. “I’d love to see that. Though if a hot guy offered _me_ a little stress relief I probably would have taken him up on it.”

What could he say? Sex released endorphins. He considered it part of a well-balanced life. True, he wasn’t much for hate sex, but only because there were very few people Clover hated. Usually it was a lot simpler than that.

“He was _not hot._ ”

Clover thought he was probably a better judge of that, but he let it slide. He downed the rest of his coffee, then chuckled. “Gods, maybe that’s what I should have suggested.”

Winter tilted her head. “When?”

“Back in the General’s office. The man’s been in panic mode for weeks, now. He’s wound tighter than a drum. Maybe he just needs to get lai—“

Clover cut himself off, at the look of slow horror on Winter’s face. It was like someone had just pointed out that she only existed because her parents had once had sex.

“…Lattes,” Clover finished, sheepish.

Winter put down her tea. She looked a bit nauseous.

“Well. This has been nice, Clover, but I should get back to work.”

She stood, primly, and he saw her off with a little salute.

Well. They were in the middle of a national embargo, he’d traumatized a younger colleague, and now he was thinking about whether his commanding officer liked coffee or tea. Good job, Ebi.

The rest of the day passed in a blur, and he had no time to think about Winter or James. Or himself, for that matter. It was only that night that the idea came back, under the hot spray of the shower. His muscles were sore from training and his brain was foggy from writing reports, but with the pounding of the water on his back and his slick hand on his skin everything fell away.

Stress relief. Didn’t everyone need a little release, from time to time? His touches grew more teasing, less mechanical, as he thought of James. What would it be like, with him? He’d seen glimpses of the man’s body, in missions and during training. But he’d never touched him like a lover. Would he be restrained, silent, holding his pleasure in? Or maybe he’d be rough, cut loose, greedy with desire?

Clover groaned, his hand moving faster, firmer. Gods, what if he could get James to just _let go_. To feel all that power, be the focus of that attention. Bent over, James’s hands digging into his hips, as he pounded relentlessly into Clover’s—

Clover came with a shout, leaning on the shower wall for support. The world came back to him slowly. His breath was ragged, the spray of the shower a rush in his ears. He groaned. Gods, that was intense.

Okay. He’d just jerked off thinking about his boss.

He probably should have felt weird about that, but instead he felt a sort of chipper determination as he washed up the evidence. The solution was simple. James Ironwood was hot. James Ironwood was stressed out. James Ironwood needed to get laid.

And Clover knew just the man for the job. 


	9. Wink (Ironluck)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Rating: T  
> Chapter Warnings: none
> 
> Continuing on from Chapter 8! Aaaaand, will conclude with a smutty third part, because this ended up being a beast.

Attempt Number One was an abject failure.

Clover probably should have anticipated that James had long become immune to his battlefield peacocking, but it was worth a shot. So he challenged James to a little after-hours spar session, ostensibly to ‘ _keep sharp.’_ After a few rounds he wiped an exaggerated amount of sweat from his forehead, claimed overexertion, then stripped off his top. He threw the older man a wink as he flexed his arm, extending Kingfisher in front of his hip in a fairly obvious metaphor.

“Another round?”

James shot him into a training pillar. And not in a fun way.

But he was on to something with the sparring; it at least provided an excuse to see James outside of the office. Informal contact. That was the key to building good relationships. They used to have that all the time, but with this new global threat on the General’s mind all social calls had ceased.

“I…suppose it wouldn’t hurt to keep a regular practice schedule,” James admitted, after a good ten minutes of Clover’s finest bullshit.

“Of course, sir,” Clover agreed. He leaned in, the charming effect somewhat dampened by the lingering wheeze in his chest. “And hey, I’m always down for a little hand to hand with you.”

James nodded, oblivious. He checked his guns as he holstered each in turn. “You prepare for every contingency. I admire that about you, Clover. Same time next week?”

“…Great,” Clover replied. 

Attempt Number Two he had a plan for. It was harder then anticipated to get James to pin him without also delivering some kind of bone-crushing blow. Honestly, though, it was kind of a fun exercise, relying on Clover’s ability to dodge or wiggle out of some positions but not others. Eventually he prevailed, or rather James did.

Clover panted, his back against the ground. James had him firmly in place, arms immobile, hips held to the mat by hefty thighs. Their faces were just inches away. Clover made one final futile squirm, just enough to hopefully bring attention to the fact that their bodies were very much touching, before meeting deep blue eyes and going limp.

“Well, looks like you got me,” he said. Clover bit his lower lip and waited.

James was flushed, above him, as he caught his breath. Clover felt a rush of arousal. James was definitely interested. There was something dangerous and _hungry_ in his eyes, as he considered his prize. He wasn’t moving in, but he also wasn’t in a hurry to get up.

“You…” James cleared his throat, though it didn’t seem to do much. “You left your back wide open.”

“Guess I was distracted,” Clover replied, low and soft. His eyes flickered down to James’s lips, then back up.

James sprang off of him, turning away. “We can’t afford to get distracted. Not now.”

Clover could have groaned. Gods, he was _so close_. “Of course, sir.”

James leaned over and offered him a hand. Clover took the offered assistance, contemplating the feel of metal under his fingers as James tugged him back to standing. 

“You’ve slipped,” James said, brushing off his pants. “Last week, too. I’m worried. Let’s go again.”

Well. That was one way to commandeer a lot of James’s time.

Thus came attempts three through five. Each went in much the same way. Clover put up what was in his opinion a rather enticing struggle, and James would come _ever so close_ to snapping. But then something dark would come over him, he’d shut back down, and he’d drill Clover until he got it right. And while Clover was generally a fan of getting drilled repeatedly, he slowly realized that the message he was projecting to James was less one of sexy battlefield competition and more of, ‘ _An incompetent person is leading my most important force.’_

Clearly, it was time to change tactics. Maybe James required a softer touch.

“It’s pretty late, James,” he said, stretching. James watched as he arched his back, hands at the base of his spine, his expression somewhere between longing and frustrated. “What do you say we call it quits for the night. Maybe grab a drink?”

James shook his head. “Again. You’ll earn it when you beat me.”

Oh ho. He could work with this.

“I bet I can take you down in five minutes.”

James raised an eyebrow, his lip quirking in amusement. “A bold claim for someone who’s lost the last three rounds.”

“Oh, it’s not a claim,” Clover replied, grinning. “It’s just a fact.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” James replied.

“Three minutes.”

Clover could do it in two, but it was always best to start high in negotiations.

James laughed, a soft chuckle that was like a long-forgotten lullaby. “Three. Well, I suppose you could try. And what if you can’t?”

He held his arms out, as if offering his body. “If I can’t, my time is all yours. If I do, you let me buy you a drink.”

James met his gaze, his blue eyes shining at the challenge. “If you actually do, the drinks are on me.”

“Deal.”

James put a countdown timer up on the training room screen. They took their positions across from each other, each crouched in a loose fighting stance, fists poised. A bell rang as they waited for the timer to start.

_Five…_

_Four…_

_Three…_

_Two…_

Clover smirked.

_One!_

Clover sprang into action. He went on the offense right away, knowing all James had to do was wait him out. And James knew it too, taking a more cautious approach. They traded a few quick blows, each of Clover’s strikes blocked fairly easily by the larger man. Clover let himself get drawn into it, his whole focus now on _winning_. His brain was six moves ahead of his body, projecting outcomes in his mind.

All those weeks of taking falls had paid off, because where James would normally see right through the little chess game he was playing, he kept reacting exactly as Clover had anticipated. He went for the same sweep-uppercut combo that had landed him on his back at least once a week, the flashy kind of move that left him wide open if he didn’t recover quick enough from James’s counter. But this time he executed it as intended, twisting around to rebalance himself.

It was James who was thrown off now, clearly expecting to send him to the mat with that last maneuver. Clover took advantage of the opening, rounding on James with a powerful kick to the back. James stumbled forward, his footing just weak enough that Clover was able to crouch low and tackle him by the legs.

Here the struggle was real. James had the strength advantage, but Clover knew how to twist a man like a pretzel. James ended up face down on the mat, arms locked behind him and Clover’s legs hooked around one of his. He could kick uselessly, but not nearly enough to get the leverage to flip them.

_BZZZZZZZTTT!_

Clover looked up, surprised. Damn, maybe he did need work. That had taken the full three.

“I…yield…” James said. He was breathing hard under Clover’s chest, a faint sheen of sweat on the back of his neck.

Clover grinned. “What did I tell you, sir?”

James groaned as Clover let him up, massaging one shoulder. “Where was that this whole time? I suppose you just like losing to me?”

Clover studied him, sitting back on the mat, his posture loose. “Maybe…maybe I do.”

James looked up. And there it was again, that _hunger_.

No time like the present. Clover crawled forward, slowly. Giving James time to move away. “Maybe it doesn’t feel like losing, when it’s you.”

“Clover…” James let out a breath, as Clover drew close. He reached out, smoothing James’s collar back into place. Then let his palm linger, feeling the solid muscle of James’s chest.

“Maybe I…” Clover tilted his head, his eyes fluttering closed just as their lips touched.

For a while James was unmoving under him, and Clover wondered if he’d horribly misjudged the entire scenario. But then there was the faintest pressure. James tilted his head, giving him a better angle, and the kiss deepened. Church bells might have gone off in Clover’s head, and he parted his lips in rejoice. Inviting James in, like doors thrown wide in welcome.

James made a low groan and suddenly there were fingers clutching Clover’s vest, pulling him in. James’s other hand ran up his side, resting at the crook of his hip as James started kissing him in earnest. What began as soft and tentative now felt like they were two men on the brink of starvation, all the tension of the last few weeks coming to a head.

James thrust his tongue inside Clover’s mouth, exploring him relentlessly. His stubble scratched at Clover’s cheek, and Clover tangled his fingers in the glossy hair at the base of James’s neck. Soon he felt lost in it, all rough friction and soft lips and probing tongue, everything hot and wet and _wonderful_.

When they finally separated it was with a gasp of air, both a little stunned at the turn of events.

“Clover,” James panted, his lips kiss-bruised. “Have you…have you been losing to me on purpose all this time?”

Clover nodded. Words were hard. And so was he. James raked his eyes over Clover’s body.

“Because you wanted me to…”

“Pound me until I can’t see straight, sir.”

James made a desperate, choked sound. He squeezed his eyes shut and grimaced, like he was girding himself. “That’s…very flattering. But I can think of at least twelve reasons why we shouldn’t.”

“I don’t care,” Clover said, shaking his head. There James went, down the rabbit hole of self-sacrifice. “James, I…don’t you want…don’t you ever just want to _let go?_ ”

“Gods, Clover, _of course_ I do,” James growled. “But it’s not that simple.”

And with that James stood, disentangling himself from Clover’s arms. Clover scrambled, trying to catch James’s hand. “James, wait!”

James pulled away, his expression tortured. “I don’t think you know what you’re asking for.”

And with that he was gone.

Clover groaned, flopping back onto the training mat. There went Attempt Number Six.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clover: Maybe James needs a softer touch  
> Also Clover: *defeats James in unarmed combat*  
> James: Yes


	10. Recovery (Ironluck)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Rating: T  
> Chapter Warnings: none
> 
> OK I LIED THE SMUT FIT BETTER WITH TOMORROW'S PROMPT, and it was taking forever to even get these two within spitting distance of screwing, so the Keep It prequel arc continues another chapter.

Time passed. Work got done. Clover moped for exactly four days before Elm picked up on it.

“What’s the matter boss? Not getting laid?”

Clover choked on his coffee. He coughed, expelling the liquid from his lungs, before turning to glare at his oldest friend and colleague. “Elm!”

“What?” Elm said, flopping onto one of the couches in the Ace Ops lounge. “You had that look about you. Engineering’s been pretty busy, huh?”

“What?” Clover furrowed his brow, before remembering his latest hookup was an engineer. His latest hookup who he’d quietly ended it with two weeks ago. “Oh. Uh…yeah. Umber hasn’t had a free night in weeks.”

“You two aren’t exclusive, are you?” Elm said, idly thumbing through her scroll. “Just find someone else.” She looked up, throwing him a playful wink. “I’ve never known you to leave an itch unscratched for long.”

If only.

“Thanks, Elm, that’s great advice,” he said, rolling his eyes. He stood up, rinsing out his mug in the sink.

“It’s just usually pretty _easy_ for you, huh Ebi?”

“Elm, I swear to the brothers if you say—“

The door swung open and Marrow and Harriet entered, bickering. Well. Harriet was bickering. Marrow was terrified.

“Next time, just hang back with the cargo. If anyone’s gonna jump into the nest it should be me. And make sure you—“

“Everything go okay?” he interrupted, a wrinkle of concern in his brow. He hoped they were getting along well. Marrow was still so new, and Harriet could be a…strong personality.

Harriet nodded. Marrow stood at attention. “I’ll put everything in the report,” Harriet said.

Clover made a mental note to cross-check that report with Marrow, in case another perspective needed explaining. He walked over, clapping the rookie on the shoulder to set him at ease. “Great. Marrow, Harriet’s not bossing you around too much, is she?”

“N-no! I just, uh…like learning. From all of you.”

“Hey, rookie!” Elm called, popping her head up over the back of the couch. “Pop quiz! What’s the difference between a blow job and a handshake?”

Marrow’s tail stood straight up. Clover found it kind of endearing, even though it was obviously an inappropriate topic. He glowered at Elm, feeling protective. “Elm, please. Marrow, ignore that.”

“That’s one way to do it,” Elm said, with a sly grin. “Right boss?”

Harriet made a noise of disgust. “All right, I’m done here.”

Clover wasn’t about to throw stones, but Harriet had the filthiest mouth of all of them. She just had no interest in dick. Clover had put up with far more explicit talk, one-on-one with her. Honestly, he felt like a bit of an expert. It was a bit like a famous movie one had never seen but felt confident one could recite all the plot points from.

“Same,” he said, giving Elm one last warning glare. “I have a meeting.”

“You’ll be okay, boss,” Elm said, grinning. “Just have to get back on that horse. Get on and ride!”

All right. Clover didn’t need this level of insubordination.

He made his way up to the Headmaster’s office, not unlike a guilty student who’d got caught pulling off senior prank. Which is to say, he felt awkward but not _bad_. His original assessment of James still stood. The man was overworked, overstressed, and Clover suspected, slightly touch starved. And Clover’s original assessment of James’s _attractiveness_ was just as spot on. James was hot, plain and simple.

What remained was James’s willingness to engage. Clearly something was holding him back. James’s last words hung over him, ‘ _I don’t think you know what you’re asking for.’_ What was it that James was afraid of? And was there anything Clover could do to crack that?

The more he thought about it, the more it became clear that he needed to keep going. All was not lost. Clover could come back from this.

It was time to break out the nuclear option.

James was professional, during their meeting. There was plenty to discuss; the security of Mantle, the ongoing investigation into the hacking at Beacon. Grimm activity around the borders. Mounting unrest in the dust industry. It was a long meeting, and a productive one, concrete plans hatched for each priority level. When Clover had, at least to his own mind, decided they had done all they could for the moment, he relaxed his posture.

James spared him a glance, something deeply longing in his eyes. It would be another sleepless night for him, if Clover didn’t do something.

“That’s all, Captain,” James said, putting himself to rest. “Dismissed.”

Business sorted, Clover turned to pleasure. “Sir,” he said.

James was settling into his desk chair, ready to resume whatever task he’d been doing before Clover walked in.

“…Yes, Clover?” he asked. He used Clover’s name. That was a good sign. They were _friends,_ in this space.

Clover leaned over the desk, his hands braced on the cool metal, meeting James’s eyes. “Sir, we had a deal. I believe you owe me a drink.”

James gaped up at him, his mouth falling open. He looked at a loss. “I…did agree to that, I suppose.”

“You did.”

“Very well,” James cleared his throat. “I have another meeting in fifteen minutes, but I can meet you in the mess hall after. Coffee all right?”

“I was hoping for something a little stronger,” Clover said, with a wink.

“Er,” James said, his cheeks pinking. He’d never seen the man so flustered. It was only fanning the flames of desire Clover felt every time they were in the same room. James gestured to the sideboard, where there was a crystal decanter of amber liquid. “I have…”

What was he supposed to do, take a shot? Clover raised an eyebrow, standing and crossing his arms. “Honestly, James.”

“…bottle of wine?” James tried.

Clover gave his most brilliant smile. “Perfect! Come by around seven? I think a white would go best, something crisp and acidic.”

James blinked. “Seven. Tonight?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“For…a drink.”

“And dinner,” Clover added. “Provided by me.”

“At…your apartment.”

Clover nodded. “Yes. Clear?”

“ _Clover,”_

“Oh, it’s no trouble,” Clover said, turning towards the door. He made sure the tails of his vest fanned out as he gave James a two-fingered salute over his shoulder, showing off the main course. “You know I love to cook. Come hungry!”

There was an aborted sound of _want_ , and then the doors slid shut.

Clover strode through the rotunda, 100% confident that he was going to get laid tonight.


	11. Nature (Ironluck) (Smut)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Rating: E  
> Chapter Warnings: none
> 
> AND WE COME (HEH) TO THE SMUTTY CONCLUSION OF OUR PREQUEL.

Clover knew he’d hit his mark when James took his first bite and _moaned._

It never failed. Clover Ebi’s Patented Date Night Meal always got results. It was a close thing, Clover flitting to his favorite bakery to pick up a loaf of bread (unfortunately no time to make one himself), then to the butcher’s for chicken, then the fresh market for greens and lemons. It was a bit of a panic when Clover realized he was out of _capers_ , but a quick trip to Elm and Vine’s apartment solved that. Even if it meant Elm’s knowing look while Vine merely offered the preserved berries with a serene calm. Thank the gods that Vine was as big of a food nerd as he was.

Honestly, Clover wasn’t sure James would even show. So as he became increasingly nervous, pounding chicken breasts and smashing garlic cloves, he prepared himself for the possibility that James just…wouldn’t. It was clear what was on offer tonight. Clover couldn’t blame the man if he evaluated all that and came up wanting.

But at 7:03, the doorbell rang. Clover answered, breathless. James pressed a bottle of _very expensive_ Pinot Grigio into his hands.

“I’m so sorry I’m late. Work was…”

“No problem,” Clover had said. Because he himself had assigned a lot of that work. “Come in?”

It all had paid off, that much became clear. James was charmingly awkward, a bit on edge, but consistently dragged into the pull of Clover’s conversation. Or his chicken, which got equal praise.

“It’s just so tender,” James said, covering his mouth as he spoke. “How do you…”

“Trade secret,” Clover replied. And okay, the trade secret was not to overcook it. Still, it was obviously a revelation.

Dinner at the table led to wine on the couch, and here Clover made his move. “James, I…” Clover leaned in. “I hope you know that I care for you. And that I’m worried about you.”

James leaned back, considering him. “So that’s why you…”

“ _That,”_ Clover specified, “Is more of a personal preference. I like to believe the best in everyone. I just want you to be happy, James. For the record, I’m not crazy about telling the whole base I slept my way to the top, which is what most people will think. But if it’s just people we trust…”

“And who is that?”

“Probably just my family,” Clover admitted. “Look, this can just be about us.”

“Clover…” James shook his head. “As wonderful as that sounds, there are…forces at play you don’t yet know about.”

James paused, watching him. Waiting for him to react, Clover realized.

“Sure,” he said.

“You’re not going to ask what they are?”

Clover shook his head. “I presume it has something to with the Fall of Beacon, but I trust you to tell me what you need to. You can tell me if you want, but I’m not going use our personal relationship to pry state secrets from you.”

“That’s…” James looked at him in wonder. “Very generous of you.”

“Like I said, I like to believe the best in people,” Clover said, smiling warmly. He reached out, taking James’s hand. Raising his eyes, he slipped his finger under the hem of the glove, asking permission. James sucked in a breath, then nodded. Slowly, he tugged at each fingertip, until he could slide the fabric free from the strong metal hand.

It was surprisingly warm, from being covered all day. Not flesh and blood warm, but warm with the hum of working machinery. Warm from electric pulses traveling from James’s fingertips up his body, through the neural transmitter on his temple, to register in his brain as _touch_. Clover caressed the pad of each finger, traced the joints of his palm, then finally entwined James’s fingers in his own.

“I know it can’t be easy,” Clover said, encasing their joined hands with his free one. “But you’re only human, James. You always have been, and you always will be.”

James drew in a breath, as Clover stood. He kept his eyes trained on James, walking backwards, his steps sure from experience and luck, as he led them into the bedroom.

It was silent, at first. Tentative kisses, soft touches. Clothes shed slowly, each article disposed of with proper reverence. Time dragged on endlessly, until seemingly all at once they were both laid bare. Clover gazed up at James, where he hovered over him on the bed.

“It’s…” James paused. “It’s been a long time since I…”

“ _James,”_ Clover said, pressing a palm to his heart. “I understand. We’ll go slow, okay?”

“I _can’t_.”

Clover inhaled sharply. James was looking at him with such intensity, like a man dying of thirst. Like he’d all but given up, ready to let the sun and the vultures take him until one day he crawled into an oasis.

“Clover,” he said, strangled. “Do you have _any idea what you do to me?”_

There was a beat. James hovered over him, tortured and dangerous. On the precipice of his own control. Clover trailed his hand down James’s side.

“Show me,” he said.

“ _Clover_ —“

“You won’t hurt me,” he assured, fingertips brushing back up pale ribs, then down again. “I’m made of tougher stuff.”

James let out a desperate moan and then he was _all over_ , pushing him into the mattress as he devoured Clover’s mouth. Clover’s accompanying cry was muffled by the kiss, pulled like another prize from his lips. He tried to bring James closer only to have his hands pinned above his head, James’s metal arm holding him neatly in place while his flesh one teased him. He arched his back, another muffled moan coming forth when James found a nipple and rolled it under his thumb.

It was all so much and yet not enough. He needed more. Clover hooked his legs around James’s back, urging him in. James groaned, releasing his lips to mouth at Clover’s neck, his hips stuttering against Clover’s in an animalistic rut. The feel of James’s cock, hot and heavy and _big_ against his had Clover nearly begging.

“ _James,”_ he whined, the single word all he could manage to convey _yes please I need you_ and _Gods that feels so good_ and _please please please fuck me now._

Somehow, it got through. James released his hands and flipped him onto his stomach, lifting his hips and taking a moment to let his cock slide deliciously between Clover’s cheeks. “Do you have…”

“Beside table,” Clover panted.

The contact at his back fell away, and there was a rustling of drawers. Clover mourned the loss but took the opportunity to get his elbows under him. If James was as hard up as he said he was, it was about to be a wild ride. There was a rustling of condoms and then…

“Clover,” James said, stunned. “Is this a…report?”

“From medical,” Clover confirmed. He couldn’t help the grin from forming on his face. “All clear, as of this morning. So when you said it’s been a while I presume you’ve had time to…”

“Yes. And…yes. Also. Clear.”

“Great! Hope that didn’t spoil the mood?”

“If anything, I admire your preparedness.”

Clover heard what was presumably his entire box of condoms hitting the wall, rendered useless, and then James was behind him again and pushing his legs open. Before he could make a witty remark, he felt James parting his cheeks and then there was something _hot_ and _slick_ teasing his entrance.

To say that the noise he made was undignified was an understatement. His head dropped to the mattress as he moaned, loud and embarrassingly wanton. He could feel the sharp scratch of stubble around his hole, a torturous contrast to the press of James’s tongue. Distantly, he was aware of the pop of his lube being uncapped, and then the sweet tongue was replaced with a thick finger.

“Fuck…” Clover moaned, as James worked his way inside. “Fuck, you’ve got big hands.”

And he had an even bigger…well. Maybe there was something to the correlation, is all.

“Too much?”

“James if you stop I will…I will… _fuck, yes…!_ ”

A second finger joined the one inside him. James scissored them, stretching him open. “Gods, you feel so hot,” James murmured. “I can’t wait to have my cock in you.”

Clover whimpered, as James added a third finger. He curled them up and _in_ , and Clover cried out, electric sparks shooting up his spine. James made a triumphant hum, using his newfound knowledge to stroke Clover’s sweet spot over and over.

“Wait, I…I don’t want to come until you’re in me,” Clover gasped. Another hum from behind him. More amused this time, with a deep undercurrent of arousal.

“So this is what you look like when you’re close,” James said. He retracted his fingers, drawing a low whine from Clover, then leaned over him. His hand caught Clover’s chin, tilting it up. Clover arched his back, twisting so he could meet James’s lips. He was pulled into one more passionate kiss, James flush against his back, his cock resting between Clover’s cheeks. 

James released his mouth, lining himself up. “Are you sure you’re…”

Clover couldn’t believe it. He felt like he was losing his mind. All he could think about was the blunt tip of James’s member against his hole. He whined, pressing his hips back.

“ _James…!_ ”

James let out an amused huff. And with one smooth motion, he slid in.

True to his warning, he wasn’t slow about it. The feeling was exquisite. Clover felt himself stretching around the intrusion, his muscles drawing James in. It felt _so good_. When James was buried to the hilt, warm flesh and cool metal of his hips flush with Clover’s ass, he leaned in. He stroked down Clover’s sides, soothing.

“Is that…?”

“Yes,” Clover managed, “ _Yes._ Move.”

The first thrust was just as deep as the initial push but faster, harder, James pulling nearly out and then slamming back in. Clover cried out, pushing his hips back to meet the other man. James slowed down a bit, giving Clover a few long luxurious rolls of his hips. Clover felt every inch of it, every pass of the cock inside him stretching him further.

“Clover, I…” James panted. “I can’t…I have to… _gods,_ you feel so good around me.”

“Do it, please, James…” Clover moaned. “Please, just…just fuck… _ahhhh!”_

James gripped his hips and _slammed_ in, over and over, each thrust brushing against Clover’s prostate. It was all he could do to hang on, brace himself and take it. Feel James fucking into him, rough and untamed. He could feel himself getting closer. He reached his hand down, stroking himself while James hammered into him.

“That’s it,” James grunted, his thrusts starting to go erratic. “Come for me, darling.”

Clover had just enough critical thinking left to register that James had just called him _darling_ before he was flying over the edge, shouting into the pillow as his orgasm overtook him. James was right behind, a few sharp thrusts before he buried himself deep in Clover, his hips stilling. 

They both stayed like that a moment, coming down from the high. Finally James pulled out, he and Clover both shuddering at the movement. Clover collapsed, rolling onto his side with a groan. He was an absolute mess. And yet, the thought of getting up was daunting.

Luckily, James was an extremely focused person. “Bathroom?” he asked, getting up. Clover groaned and made a vague gesture down the hall. There weren’t that many rooms. James was bound to figure it out eventually.

He did, as it happened. James returned with a warm, damp washcloth, scrubbing him down tenderly. Clover grinned, feeling a bit delirious from the mind-blowing orgasm he’d just had. “Did you call me _darling?_ ”

James froze, washcloth poised against Clover’s lower abdomen. “Er. Did you…”

“You can keep saying it, if you want,” Clover said, smiling slow and sated. It made him feel warm, like the press of the damp cloth against his belly. No one had ever been so _kind_ to him, without expecting anything in return.

A hesitant smile bloomed on James’s face. He continued his ministrations, his touch surprisingly tender. “Very well, darling,” he said. “If you wish.”

Something fluttered in Clover’s chest. It was dangerous, and he should know better, but it called to him nonetheless. Something that spoke of heated gazes and knowing hands against his skin. Of tender lips against his, whispered words. Promises and confessions.

When they were both as clean as they could get without a shower, Clover reached out. “Come here.”

James went willingly to his arms, though he had a multitude of excuses lined up.

“I can…I can’t stay for…I really should…”

“You realize you’re not getting out of this bed until tomorrow,” Clover said, nuzzling into James’s side. It was strangely comforting, the whirr of machinery under his ear.

“But if someone sees—“

“Major Earle stays over with her mother in Mantle every Tuesday,” Clover said. “So she’s not even here right now. Captain Whitford plays tennis at eight. I know everyone who works out on this hall, and they’re all early birds. We get you out between 7:00 and 7:45 you should be golden. And I have a feeling my luck is going to be in full swing tomorrow.”

James chuckled into his ear. “I should have known you’d have it all planned out.”

“I’m a professional,” Clover said. He reached over to the bedside table, setting an alarm. “Sleep. You need it.”

James sighed, settling into his side. “Thank you, Clover. For taking care of me like this.”

Clover laughed. Gods, James really was adorable. “That’s very charitable, sir, but I expect you to fuck me again before you leave this apartment.”

The reply from James was sleepy and content, barely audible as the man succumbed to exhausted oblivion.

“Yes, darling.”


	12. Orders/Beliefs (Fairgame, background Lucky IronQrow)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Rating: M  
> Chapter Warnings: Discussions of light dom/sub behavior? 
> 
> I didn't have angst in me for this prompt and I didn't quite have smut in me either, so here's just a lot of spicy discussion.

Considering how well he knew Clover, and that absolutely included in the, ah…ancient context, Qrow really shouldn’t have been surprised. He knew what Clover liked. They’d talked about it; gods, Qrow had _participated_ in a lot of it. But the reality of the situation didn’t quite come clear until one day in the mess hall.

They were sitting with the kids. Because of course. Qrow was regaling them with a tale from his Team STRQ days, one of the wilder ones to boot. Ruby and Yang had heard it a million times, but they still loved to hear it, and Qrow…well, who was he to refuse a couple of brats. Anyway, it was news to the rest of them, and Qrow made sure to add a few extra touches from the last time he’d told it.

“Last time you said you were outnumbered _two_ to one, not three,” Yang pointed out, leaning on her elbow.

“It was three,” Qrow insisted, narrowing his eyes at her.

“Yeah, and I don’t remember there being an Ursa Major,” Ruby added.

“There’s always an Ursa Major in a pack that big,” Qrow explained. “Little lesson for you kids. You’re not done ‘till you get the big one.”

Brats. Both of them.

Clover laughed, standing. He shook his empty coffee mug. “Anyone want anything? I’m grabbing another cup.”

Blake requested a coffee as well, and Nora demanded a cookie. Clover turned to Qrow, an eyebrow raised in question. Qrow picked up his soda can, sloshing it to test the level. Which was not empty. Cola fizzed up and splashed onto his macaroni, soaking his plate and the tray underneath it. Qrow glared at his ruined lunch.

Clover patted his shoulder. “Want some napkins, pretty bird?”

Qrow turned his glare to his boyfriend.

Another soft chuckle, and Clover leaned over him. “How about some unspoiled food, instead?”

The man was relentlessly helpful. Qrow hardly knew what to do with that most days. He settled for leaning back in his seat, grumbling. “Fine.”

Clover gave him a little salute, then turned back to the table. “Yes, sir. Anyone else? Last call.”

“The only thing I want is the TRUTH!” Ruby said, pounding the table with her fist.

“That is the truth! I was there, kiddo!”

“I completely believe your uncle,” Clover said sweetly, leaning over the table and gathering the mess of his tray.

Qrow did it without thinking. Maybe he just had a visceral reaction to Clover’s ass being within three feet of his eyeline. But whatever possessed him, he reached out, giving said ass two firm pats.

“Good boy. Now go get me something to eat.”

Clover jerked up like a marionette. He stood, stock still, his face slowly flushing as he stared into the middle distance. Qrow blinked, confused. He expected some kind of comeback, but Clover wasn’t teasing him, or flirting with him. He wasn’t doing much of anything.

It was the telltale pull of Clover’s lower lip, caught in his teeth, that made it clear.

Oh, gods. Clover was turned on. Just from Qrow…

Oops.

“Uh…Clover?” Jaune asked. Oh, Jaune. Big of heart, small of tact. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Clover squeaked, hastening over to the front of the mess. He left behind absolutely all of the dishes he’d meant to gather, along with several confused teenagers.

Weiss put her forehead to her palm. Yang and Blake exchanged a look. Ren averted his gaze. Out of the corner of his eye, Qrow saw Clover pacing from the coffee machine to the utensil station, at a complete loss.

A bang of the table drew his attention. Qrow only jumped _little_. Ruby pointed an accusatory finger at him. “Which is it, Uncle Qrow? _If that is your real name???_ ”

* * *

Qrow let himself into Clover’s apartment, keying in the door code after hours of radio silence. Clover wasn’t hard to find. His boyfriend was face down on the couch, in full uniform, his boots still on and feet dangling off the side. At the sound of the door opening he screamed into the cushions.

“C’mon, Cloves, it wasn’t that bad,” he said. “Most, uh…not _all_ of them picked up on it.”

“What is wrong with me?” Clover moaned. “There were _children_ present. I think I would’ve sucked your cock right there if you’d told me to.”

That thought was not helping Qrow’s focus. He definitely didn’t need to think about Clover on his knees in the mess hall, blowing him in front of everyone. Keeping his cock warm, just like Qrow’s personal—

Qrow cleared his throat. He walked to the couch, perching on the empty cushion next to Clover’s head. “You, uh…really like taking orders, huh?”

“I do manage to make it through my normal job without getting turned on,” Clover said, the sarcasm dampened somewhat by his muffled tone. “I mean…please don’t be offended, but I don’t really associate you with the military.”

Qrow blinked. “Why would I be offended at that?”

That was a compliment. Right? The converse would have been offensive as hell. Qrow nearly shuddered, picturing himself in those stiff Atlas military uniforms. Having to wear _white_ every day. He might as well start doing his hair like the Ice Queen, wound up in a bun tighter than her asshole. 

Clover just moaned, miserably, into the couch.

“Sorry,” Qrow said, feeling genuine regret. “I didn’t realize. Or, uh…I, uh…guess I thought it was just a you and Jimmy thing.”

Qrow didn’t know his own power.

Clover raised his head, giving Qrow a desperate look. His face was still flushed. Maybe he shouldn’t have, ah…sat so close. “Does it look like it’s confined to James?”

Qrow reached out, tracing his fingertips through Clover’s soft hair. The younger man sighed under his touch, going limp as he let his head fall back down. Qrow lost himself for a moment in the feel of it, the urge to preen and groom and _fuss_ over his lover taking over. It was mesmerizing, using his palm to muss the chestnut locks and then righting each one until it shone brighter than before.

They all had their little things.

“So you’re a bit submissive in bed,” Qrow started. Clover moaned again, frustration turning to quiet contentment as Qrow scratched his nails through the short hair at the nape of his neck. “So what? It’s not like it’s a bad thing. Just like how Jimmy likes to be in charge.”

James liked to fight for it and Qrow had the bruises to prove it. He saw both sides. The fight for dominance. The joy in taking control, the heady rush of being trusted completely. Of taking care of someone else. On the other side, the thrill of just giving in. Letting someone else take care of him. But then, Qrow had never been picky.

“You don’t think I’m a walking cliché? The textbook case of daddy issues?”

Qrow scowled. “Look, anyone would come up with a few issues if they had a dad like yours.”

“ _Qrow,”_

“I know, not the point,” Qrow said, rolling his eyes and saving his rage for later. “I’m not gonna judge you, okay? I never would.”

How could he? How could Qrow throw stones when he was such a mess, all the time? Sometimes he wondered how he _fit_ , Clover and James already such a matched pair. But he found his little spaces, in the infuriating expectations of a luck-based semblance or the weary march of old men who’d been fighting someone else’s war for far too long. They were like safe ports in the storm, reminding him that he mattered.

How could he judge Clover, when everything about Clover was coated in perfection? Maybe not to everyone, he could admit that. Maybe others would be looking for those cracks to exploit, and he hated them for it. But to Qrow, it was all just _Clover_.

Qrow brushed his fingers through Clover’s hair, playing with the little tuft at the front. Gathering the hair from the couch cushions and pulling up. When had had a good handful gathered he closed his fist, just the hint of pressure against Clover’s scalp.

Clover drew in a breath. Qrow could almost feel the rush of blood to his head.

“All right, Lucky Charm,” he said. “Let’s see how good you can be.”


	13. Serendipity (Gen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Rating: T  
> Chapter Warnings: none
> 
> Late, late, this is late! But hopefully this bit of vaguely cracky silliness will brighten your Saturdays. This takes place when Clover and Elm are around 25, so they're both Specialists but the Ace Ops haven't been formed yet.

Clover’s head ached.

He groaned, covering his eyes with his arm to block the morning sun. There was nothing he could do about the sound, though. The sounds of the Argus Embarcadero drifted up to his window, clanging bells and barking sea lions and _screaming children_ , gods help him. He groaned again, pulling his pillow over his head in a futile attempt to block it all out.

The alarm on his scroll went off.

“Nooooo…” Clover moaned, curling up into a ball. From next to him, a loud snore added to the din.

Wait. Fuck. Did he fuck someone last night?

Clover tossed the pillow to the floor, shooting up. He looked down at himself. _Fuck_. He was _naked._ And next to him was…

Oh, thank the gods. It was just Elm.

Images from last night started coming back to him, and he nudged the woman next to him. Who was thankfully wearing her same outfit from the bar.

“Elm. Get up. It’s morning.”

Elm was face-first on the mattress, as if someone had just decked her cold. Why she was in Clover’s bed was beyond his limited comprehension. Another shove brought a muffled snort of protest.

“Can it, Ebi. I’m sleeping.”

Clover let her be for now. Maybe after a shower he’d be in some kind of shape to haul her to her feet. Right now he could barely get his own under him. The room wasn’t _spinning_ like it had last night, but his stomach roiled and his mouth felt like a trashcan. There was a bottle of water on the nightstand, and he downed it in one go.

Shower. A shower would help. What was the saying, hangovers were water soluble? A shower, and then the greasiest breakfast he could find. And an energy drink.

Clover walked to the bathroom, starting the shower to heat up while he assessed the damage. Already, the hiss of steam was clearing his head. A good thing, because it sorely needed clearing. He examined his reflection in the mirror. His eyes were a bit bloodshot, and his hair looked like an animal had nested in it. But he was free of bumps or bruises, and apparently Elm had protected his virtue. Nothing felt sore. Give him an hour, and he’d be good as new.

And then he spotted it, in the mirror, as he turned to get into the shower. Something was stuck to him. He brushed his hand over his skin, blinking in confusion when nothing came off. He twisted around, tilting his hip toward the mirror to get a better look. Through the fog of his hangover, he slowly realized what was on him. And _where_ it was.

Clover’s soul left his body.

He ran back into the hotel room, frantic. “Elm! Elm, what happened last night?”

He shook her shoulder, not letting up until she groaned and rolled over. She blinked up at him, her eyes bleary. And then she looked down.

“Hello, Lieutenant,” she croaked, teasing.

It was probably a violation of twelve different fraternization rules to wake your squad up with your dick that close to their face, but Elm might as well have been a piece of furniture as far as his sex drive was concerned. The relevant body part was on the other side, anyway.

Clover turned around, pointing at his ass. “Elm, _what is this???_ ”

Elm grinned, as she studied the offending mark. “Lucky you, huh? Or I guess lucky me, since I’m the one looking at it.”

“How did I…I don’t even remember…oh, _gods._ ”

Flashes of the previous night came back to him. The dinner. The bar. Faye wrenching control of the night from him. Then the _strip club_ , ugh, _that_ was completely wasted on him. Cedar begging off like the good and loyal husband-to-be who was also mortified at the idea of ogling naked ladies next to his sister. And then more bars, and Faye making them do shots, and for some reason trying to keep up with _Elm._ The damp streets spinning under his feet, held up by Cedar’s coworker who was kinda hot actually, stumbling through the fog toward a neon sign and then…and then…

Well. The evidence was there. Clover had a raging hangover and a tattoo on his ass.

He could just picture himself, old and feeble, some hospital nurse having to perceive a faded four-leaf clover and the words ‘ _Lucky You’_ in swirling cursive on his wrinkled butt-cheek as they wiped his ass and sponged him down. Or maybe he’d get really lucky and die first. The coroner’s report would still have to mention it. ‘ _Identifying marks: poorly thought-out tattoo on right buttock.’_

Clover groaned, going to sit on the bed, before realizing at the last second that that would probably be a phenomenally bad idea. He could just add it to his tab.

There was a knock at the door. Clover shuffled over, squinting through the peep hole. Thankfully, it was just Faye.

He pulled the door open, wailing. “Faye. _How could you let this happen?_ ”

Faye looked down, then back up. “You gonna put some pants on for the wedding, or…?”

Clover turned around and pointed at his ass. He had a feeling he’d be doing that a lot today. “Faye. Look.”

Faye let out a low whistle. She didn’t seem hung over at all. The bitch was already dressed, albeit in workout shorts and a tank top. You’d never guess she was stuffing lien in a woman’s G-string twelve hours ago. “Hey, it looks pretty good. You sore?”

Clover tentatively poked the offending image. Huh, it actually didn’t hurt at all.

“Apparently my aura was high enough to heal up overnight, and yet my semblance did nothing to prevent this travesty,” Clover muttered. “Nor did either of you.”

“Ebi, I think I peed behind a dumpster last night,” Elm groaned, sitting up. “Twice. I think. Or I threw up? Besides, you were very determined.”

Clover didn’t doubt it. It sounded like the kind of thing Drunk Clover would think was super funny. He was never drinking again. Or bringing Elm as his plus-one, if this was the kind of wingman she was gonna be.

“I’m sure whoever you hook up with tonight will love it,” Faye said, patting his shoulder as she slipped inside the room. “Get dressed before you flash someone, we’re getting breakfast. I require bacon.”

“I don’t know how you can be so calm about seeing a family member mutilated,” Clover said, stalking over to his suitcase and pulling out some clothes.

There was _another_ knock on the door, and Faye pulled it open before he could pull…well, anything on.

“I’m getting MARRIED!” Cedar cried, grabbing Faye and wrapping her in a bear hug. Faye grunted at the tight embrace. Elm got the same treatment.

“Ederne! One for you too,” he said, his voice already cracking with emotion. “Gods, I love you all. I love my life. I get to marry the woman I love, and celebrate with my wonderful sister and my wonderful…Shrimp’s teammate. And Shrimp! My best man! My wonderful…”

Cedar finally noticed his state, hunched over his suitcase like an inappropriate leprechaun. The lucky clover tattoo on full display.

“Oh, gods,” Cedar said, smacking his forehead. “Faye. Did you do this.”

“Why does everyone think it’s my fault?!” Faye protested. “I don’t even remember it!”

“You’re supposed to watch Shrimp!” Cedar said, gesturing to Clover. Clover bristled, offended. 

“What am I, ten? I don’t need watching.”

“You have a luck pun tattooed on your ass,” Cedar shot back. “I can’t believe it. Gods, this really…”

“It’s not like anyone will see it, sir.” Elm said. She yawned, cracking her back then doing a few light stretches. “During the ceremony, at least.”

Cedar stared at her, his expression at a conflux between professional courtesy and familial mortification. “…right,” he said. He turned to Faye, pointing an accusatory finger. “I know what this is. You’re still mad about the wedding party.”

Faye snorted, crossing her arms. “What makes you think that?”

“We were having a perfectly nice night, just me and all my closest friends and family, and then you took over and turned it onto some kind of…raunch fest.”

“You mean a perfectly lame night. I _saved_ it.”

“Hey!” Clover said. “You said you liked the hot pot!”

Clover stood by his dinner decision. He was still a little salty that Faye derailed them before they could hit up laser tag. All those team attacks he’d worked out with Elm were for naught. Turns out that for all her loyalty on the battlefield, Elm would absolutely abandon him if it meant she got to see boobs. 

Cedar and Faye both ignored him. “Just because I want someone _responsible_ to keep hold of the most important prop at my wedding—“

“I don’t want to be a bridesmaid!” Faye shouted. “Val’s friends are all nerds and I don’t look good in blush!”

Elm looked over at him, as if to ask whether his family was always like this. Clover shrugged. They weren’t _not_ like this.

“So what, you try to sabotage Shrimp?

“Elm’s right, no one’s gonna see it,” Faye said. “At least, if Shrimp would put some pants on.”

Oh. Right. He was still naked. It wasn’t anything anyone in the room hadn’t seen before.

“See what?”

All four of them turned to the…gods, _still open_ doorway, where Val was standing. She was dressed in a fluffy robe, her hair wrapped up in a towel. Cedar squeaked and whirled around, covering his eyes.

“I’m not supposed to see you!” He said, panicked. “You’re not supposed to see me! It’s bad luck!”

“You could just borrow some from Shrimp’s ass,” Faye grumbled.

Clover, for his part, flushed bright red, rifling through his suitcase for a pair of boxers or something while simultaneously trying to cover himself. Val leaned in the doorway, an amused smile on her face.

“Just pretend I wasn’t here,” she said, patting Cedar’s back. “Did you all have a barn burner or what, last night?”

“It was fine,” Faye said, too quickly.

“Great,” Elm added.

“Nothing happened,” Clover said.

“Fuck! Babe, don’t look at Shrimp!”

“Honey, I’m a doctor,” Val said. “I’ve seen hundreds of penises. Clo, do you and Elm want to have breakfast with the girls in my room? We have mimosas and blinis.”

That sounded lovely, but Clover was not the classiest company at the moment. “Erm…” he started.

Val cocked her head, listening. “Is someone in the shower?”

Cedar’s free hand clenched at his side. His voice went icy. “ _Is_ someone in the shower?”

“Oh!” Clover said. “Uh, no. I just started it. And then I noticed, uh…”

Val blinked at him, confused. Sighing, Clover turned around and pointed at his ass. There was a beat of silence, and then Val burst into laughter.

“Ahhh…hahaha…! _Lucky you_ …I get it. Pfffttt, that’s hilarious.”

“Babe,” Cedar said, delicately. “It’s, uh…I mean, it seems funny now, but in a couple years…?”

“I hope Clo washes his ass more than every couple years,” Val replied, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. “Please tell me you’re leaving it on for tonight at least.”

Clover blinked. He looked from Val to Faye. Who looked to Cedar. Who looked back to Clover.

“Er, Val, it’s a tattoo,” Clover finally said. “It’s not coming off.”

Val burst into laughter again, leaning against the door. It was, admittedly, a bit of a scene. The Argus Ebis all showered and ready to face the day, Cedar with a hand over his eyes in alternating joy and panic while simultaneously bickering with Faye. And then the Atlesian contingent, the ostensible elite team, hung over and struggling to remember the previous night. Elm still in her sparkly top and leather pants and Clover completely nude with his namesake tattooed onto his ass. Someday, maybe, this would be funny. Presumably after a costly and painful six weeks of laser tattoo removal.

“Clo,” Val said, her shoulders shaking. “How drunk did you get last night?”

“I’m not proud,” he replied. “Uh. Cedar left early.”

“Thanks, Shrimp,” Cedar said, directing a thumbs up in his general direction.

Val advanced on him, still giggling. Clover stood paralyzed. Before he could process what was happening, Val licked her thumb and rubbed it over his ass cheek. Right over the tattoo.

Clover yelped, shocked. “Val!”

Look, having a wet digit on his ass wasn’t exactly an unfamiliar sensation. Having that sensation while standing in a hotel room with his cousins and his teammate was another thing entirely.

Val lifter her hand to show him her thumb. Which had a black smear on it. “Honestly. Can none of you tell the difference between a real and a fake?”

The room went silent.

Finally, Elm smacked her forehead. “ _Ohhhhh_ …I do remember that now. I think we got kicked out?”

“Most parlors won’t tattoo anyone who’s intoxicated,” Val explained. “It looks like you all found an alternative, though?”

Clover twisted around, studying the smeared remnants of his tattoo. The ‘L’ was gone completely, leaving the unfortunate phrase _‘ucky You.’_ Vaguely, he recalled raiding the vending machines in the hotel lobby with Elm. Which at least explained why his tongue tasted like corn chips.

“Huh.”

Elm scratched her head. “I guess I must’ve done it, boss. Don’t know why you had to get naked though.”

“What’s life without a little mystery,” he said. Drunk Clover could have that one. He was just thankful for his still-pristine ass. Well. Tattoo-wise.

“What’s happening?” Cedar asked, his palm still firmly over his eyes. “Ederne tattooed you? Seriously? I mean, I’m still pissed, but…are you like a professional? Is that even legal?”

“It’s a press-on,” Faye said, rolling her eyes. “Alright, am I off the hook now?”

Cedar sighed in relief. “Oh, thank the brothers. My sweet baby cousin.”

“I could get a tattoo if I wanted,” Clover insisted. Not that he _wanted_ to, but still. Cedar couldn’t tell him what to do. He crossed his arms. “Maybe I will.”

“You won’t,” Cedar shot back.

“You wouldn’t,” Faye corrected.

“Not sober at least,” Elm agreed, nodding sagely.

No respect. Clover threw up his hands. “Fine! I’m taking a shower, then. I can’t have _half a tattoo_ on my ass.”

“Breakfast?” Val asked.

“Actually, babe,” Cedar started. “If it’s okay I, uh…was hoping Faye and Shrimp and I could hit up a diner. One last time, you know?”

Faye’s expression softened, and she gave her brother a sentimental smile. Which he didn’t see at all.

Cedar coughed. “And Ederne, you too.”

“I’ll leave you three to catch up, sir,” Elm said, graciously. She grinned. “Though if the mimosa offer still stands, that sounds amazing. Little hair of the dog!”

“My thoughts exactly,” Val said. “You can shower in my room, if you don’t want to wait for Clo. The more buffers between me and Mom the better. You like blinis, right?”

“Never had them!”

Clover tried to imagine Elm eating blinis and caviar and came up short. Elm would be fine, though. She always made fast friends.

Val came up behind Cedar, standing on her tiptoes to kiss the side of his cheek. “Okay, babe. You three have fun. I’ll see you later.”

The dopey, lovestruck grin from earlier returned to Cedar’s face. “Gods, I can’t wait to see you. I love you so much. I can’t believe we’re really…”

“I know,” Val said, smiling ear to ear. “Quit it, before you make me cry.”

Cedar sniffled, already halfway gone. Clover had to look away, feeling a little emotional himself. Those two were so perfect for each other, so committed to their love. Sometimes it felt like they were speaking a secret language, one Clover could hear plainly but never quite understand.

He wondered if he’d ever find a love like that. 

Val departed with Elm, and a grudging promise from Faye to come get ready with the rest of the bridal party. And then the three Ebis were alone.

“Eggs?” Faye asked.

“Eggs,” Clover agreed. “And bacon. And lots of coffee.”

Cedar wiped the last tears from his eyes, nodding at each of them. “Sounds like a plan. Shrimp, go wash your ass.”


	14. Self Care (Gen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Rating: G  
> Chapter Warnings: none
> 
> To give you full tonal whiplash, here is Actual Child Clover.

It was bright and sunny for once, and Clover turned his face into the light as he made his way across the school yard. It felt so lovely, as if all of Atlas were kneeling before the sun, its rays warm against his cheeks even as a crisp breeze swept up from the pavement. He closed his eyes, reveling in the sensation.

Someone bumped into him, and Clover stumbled forward. Some of the older boys snickered, turning back to stare at him as they exited the grounds.

“Watch it, Ebi!”

Clover shook the clouds from his head. He walked out the gates of the school, keeping his distance from the other children. He didn’t want any trouble today.

A detour through a few side streets and he had the sun to himself again. On a whim, Clover decided to take the long way home. Through the park, past the narrow houses with their delicate little gardens. It was just so _nice_ out, today.

The park was full of life, people lounging on the benches and playing games in the scattered courts. The little patches of grass were still damp, but Clover longed to roll through them. His father told him they didn’t have grass like this in Mantle. That he was lucky to get to see such sights.

Clover was lucky for a lot of reasons.

He couldn’t help but reach down, feeling the lush grass under his fingers. It tickled his palm, leaving a wet trail of dewdrops on his skin. Sometimes Clover wished he could just shrink to the size of an ant, so the blades towered over him like the trees outside of Argus. His own tiny, private forest in a patch of grass.

But Clover had lingered enough today. He wiped his hands on the trousers of his uniform, continuing on. Through the rose garden, just blooming to life. Through the stone labyrinth, pausing to trace the path to the center. And then back and out, through the little alley used by the maintenance staff.

Mr. Hawthorn was there, shoveling fresh mulch into his wheelbarrow. The smell was amazing, all vegetal tree bark. The old man paused when he saw Clover, offering him a tip of his cap.

“Afternoon, lad. Nice day for it, I suppose.”

“Yes, sir!” Clover chirped, hitching his backpack up. “Have you seen any new birds lately?”

“Saw a gull the other day, if you can believe it,” Mr. Hawthorn said, with shake of his head. “Poor thing must have been lost, so far from the sea.”

“Oh, that’s terrible,” Clover said, his face falling. He could just imagine it, the poor bird so far from home and no way to get back. “If you see it again will you please call me? Maybe I can help it get back. It’s not so far on an airship.”

Mr. Hawthorn chuckled, turning back to his mulch pile. “What’ll you do, lad, sweet-talk it? It’s good of you, but there’s no pushing birds. Not even you have that power.”

Clover frowned, but said nothing. Adults were always so sure about the world. Clover was only ten, but it seemed to him like the biggest obstacle was the willingness to act.

“Don’t you have some homework to do, now?” Mr. Hawthorn said, giving him a sly look.

Clover jumped, then checked his scroll. “Crap!”

Mr. Hawthorn laughed, as Clover broke into a run. “Good to see you, lad!”

“Bye, sir!”

Clover jogged through the streets, emerging into the back alley across from his house. Just as he did so, his scroll started ringing. Clover balked at the contact info. It wasn’t his mother, but his _father_.

He darted in through the back door of the Mazzetti’s deli, zipping through the kitchens with a wave. He nearly ran down Nona Mazzetti as he dashed into the front room, stumbling toward the little table in the window that he always occupied. Clover threw his backpack onto the table, took one second to catch his breath, then answered his scroll.

His father’s face appeared on the screen. He was looking down, as if reading something else entirely. At the chime of the scroll he looked up.

“Clover,” Colonel Ebi said, frowning. “What took you so long to answer your scroll?”

“Sorry sir, I was in the bathroom,” Clover said. His father’s frown deepened. 

“Are you ill? You look like you’re sweating.”

“I’m fine, sir. It’s just, uh…warm today.”

Clover’s father didn’t seem like he was buying it, but he was apparently too busy to care. “Right. Tell me your assignments for the day.”

Clover rattled off his homework from memory, a skill he’d picked up long ago. The Colonel nodded, listening without comment.

“Good. Your mother’s mission is running long, so I hope I can trust you to make your own dinner?”

Clover nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“I don’t want you eating garbage either, son. A proper meal, please.”

“I can make soup,” Clover said, suppressing his grimace. The canned soup just made him feel so sad, for some reason.

His father nodded. “Good. I’ll be home at eight.”

The scroll went dark.

Clover sighed, slumping in his seat. A clatter on the table in front of him drew his gaze up. Nona Mazzetti was there, a plate of cheesecake shoved in front of him. She gave him a warm smile.

“Carlo’s so clumsy, he cut this one too small to sell. Think you can take care of it, _patatino_?”

Clover’s face lit up. He was _starving._ “Thank you, Nona!”

Nona pinched his cheek, and he didn’t even squirm away. “Thank my good-for-nothing son. Besides, you are too skinny. Eat!”

Clover shot a thankful look to the big, shy man behind the counter. Carlo averted his gaze, turning back to the meat slicer.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a comforting bustle, Clover finishing his homework at the little table in the window. The rush of the after-school crowd died down, and then it was mostly calm. The sandwich station closed. People came in to pick up desserts and pasta, olives and cheese. The sun faded, the lights went on. Harried adults, younger than his parents but always alone, stopped in to pick up ready-made lasagna and bottles of wine. Soon it was just Clover, homework long finished, swinging his legs in the air while Carlo mopped the floor. Carlo didn’t talk much, but he didn’t mind when Clover did.

“Getting dark, sprout,” Carlo noted, looking out the window at the dimming light. 

“I can help you clean,” Clover said, hopeful. “Everyone hates doing it, but I kind of like it.”

Carlo grunted, shaking his head. “I’ll walk you home.”

It was only across the street, and Carlo didn’t even lock the shop to escort Clover to his front stoop. Still, he was glad for the company. If Clover lingered a bit as he dug his keys from his backpack, Carlo didn’t say anything.

The house was dark, of course. And cold. Clover turned the heat up, now that his father couldn’t complain about wasting dust on an empty house. Clover climbed up to his room, unpacked his backpack, and changed into his pajamas.

He still had a couple hours before his parents would be home, so he dutifully heated up a can of soup and ate in in front of the television. The soft glow wasn’t quite the company he wanted, but it was better than silence. He found an old detective movie and pulled a blanket around himself, letting the quick but familiar patter of dialogue wash over him. Slowly, his eyes drifted close. He dreamt of a daring bird rescue, returning the wayward gull to its home by the sea.

It was the soft brush of a hand in his hair that woke him. Clover blinked his eyes open, taking in the blurry form of his mother. He peered at the clock. It was well past nine.

“Hey, little one. You fell asleep down here, hmm?”

Clover yawned. “Do you think you could get a seagull onto an airship? Without scaring it, or hurting it?”

His mother laughed, the sound like winter bells in his ear. “Probably not, unless I had quite a lot of food to offer. Did you have a good day?”

Clover nodded, half asleep again already. “I saw the sun today…” he mumbled. Ma laughed again.

“Alright, up you go,” Ma said, hauling him to his feet. “Don’t fade on me yet, little soldier. Not until you’ve brushed your teeth.”

Clover shuffled up the stairs, imagining how he might earn the trust of a stubborn gull. Food was a good start. The bird would be tired, so maybe a soft nest to lay in. He had some blankets that would do the trick…


	15. Change (Fairgame)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Rating: T  
> Chapter Warnings: Zwei. Okay, that's not a warning it's a promise. 
> 
> I can't believe it's taken me this long to write some soft fluffy Fairgame in Patch.

“Qrow, look! Look at this one!”

Qrow rolled his eyes, as his boyfriend held up the fifteenth leaf in a row for him to admire. “Yeah, yeah, Lucky Charm. It’s nice.”

“It’s almost like…half red, half gold,” Clover mused, holding the maple leaf up to the dappled sunlight. He sighed, in pure innocent wonder. “Gorgeous.”

And just like that, Qrow’s cheeks felt as red as the leaf in Clover’s hand.

He’d known Clover would be blown away by Patch, but witnessing it was altogether something else. The little island was stunning year-round, but Tai insisted they come in the fall. Qrow would have picked a warmer month, after spending so long in frigid Atlas, but even he had to admit that the changing colors of autumn were the perfect way to convince Clover to come back.

And so the little ‘walk’ through the woods behind the house became a treasure-hunting expedition. The variegated maple leaf was added to the little collection Clover had tucked against his chest. He was like a little kid—flitting from tree to tree, touching the rough bark, then peering up through the leaves, then bending to examine an acorn or a mushroom. They’d been out here an hour, and Qrow had stopped him from eating at least three poisonous plants and touching two more that would make him burst out in a rash. It was both endearing and exhausting.

“Hmm, this looks so soft…”

Qrow whipped his head around just in time to prevent Clover from caressing a nettle. “Don’t touch that! It stings!”

“Ah,” Clover said, retracting his hand without a shred of guilt. “So this isn’t one of the ones you can eat?”

“You can, but you need gloves to gather it,” Qrow replied. “All those little hairs will get stuck in your skin and hurt like a bitch. You have to boil it to neutralize the sting.”

Clover looked at him with big, pleading eyes. Qrow sighed, shaking his head. “We’ll come out here and do some real foraging later, if you really want to.”

Besides, Clover was already carrying so much they’d probably end up with pebbles in their soup. He threw Qrow a blinding smile.

“I’d love that,” he said. “You know so much about plants, it’s really impressive.”

Qrow shrugged. “It was one of my jobs, when I was a kid.”

Most of Qrow’s knowledge was for survival. If you didn’t know what mushrooms you could eat and what mushrooms would make you choke, you weren’t gonna make it long in the forest. Qrow hadn’t cooked like that since he left. Didn’t much want to, if he didn’t have to. Unless he was on a remote mission and needed to forage, he was happy to just pay someone else to do the farming. But somehow, the thought of sharing those foods with Clover made him feel warm and nostalgic.

They breached the edge of the woods, coming back into the clearing behind Tai’s house. Clover bit his lip, looking longingly into the forest. “It feels like a shame to leave. It’s such a nice day, I wish I could stay in there forever.”

Qrow’s heart hammered in his chest, the way it always did when he thought about the future with Clover. A thrilling drumbeat of a thought rose in him, an escalating rhythm of ‘ _yes yes stay with me come to me be mine forever._ ’ Just as that whole mess of words was about to spill over and make him do something stupid, he spotted a pile of freshly raked leaves near the house. 

He grabbed Clover’s wrist, pulling him over. “Come on, Cloves, you don’t even know the best part.”

Clover followed without protest, his eyes lighting up at the thought of yet another new experience. When they got to the leaf pile Qrow released him, gesturing to the crunchy mess. Clover looked from the leaves to Qrow, confused.

“Er,” he said, politely. “Qrow, these are nice too but they’re all kind of…brown? Not that I don’t like brown.”

Qrow snorted, then bent to pick up an armful of leaves. “Catch,” he said, then tossed the whole mess in the air. Clover sputtered, going to bat the leaves from his face and subsequently losing his grip on all his collected vegetation.

“My leaves!” he cried.

Gods, he was such a nerd. Qrow laughed, grabbing Clover’s hand and praying that the other man’s semblance would keep them safe from stray dog poop or hidden rakes. And then he fell back into the enormous pile of leaves, pulling Clover along with him.

Luckily, the fall was cushioned and the grass underneath soft and clean. Clover laughed as he picked up on the idea, spreading his arms and legs out like he was making a snow angel.

“It’s like playing in snow!” he exclaimed, his voice bright with joy. “But it’s dry and crunchy!”

“Now you get it,” Qrow chuckled, rolling over and tossing more leaves onto the delighted Atlesian. That led into an all-out leaf fight, both of them rolling and crunching and wrestling through the pile. Which quickly went from a neat pyramid of leaves to a messy spread crushed across the lawn.

Qrow ended up straddling Clover, pinning his hands into the leaves while Clover tried in vain to shake a leaf out of his hair tuft. He laughed, tossing his head, then crossing his eyes as he tried to figure out if the leaf was still there. He could probably roll them again if he really wanted to, but he seemed content to lie back in the soft foliage and enjoy the weight of Qrow’s body on his hips.

“Qrow,” Clover pouted, turning teal eyes on him. “A little help?”

“Nah, I think it looks good,” Qrow replied.

He leaned in, claiming his prize. Clover’s lips were soft and slightly chapped under his, and parted easily at the press of his tongue. He tasted like the spiced cider they’d had earlier, all cinnamon and orange peel and sweet tart apples. Qrow couldn’t help but indulge himself, pressing close and taking taste after taste, until Clover writhed under him and moaned into his mouth. When he finally pulled back Clover chased the contact, letting out a soft whine.

Everything about this man was perfect. Clover gazed up at him with barely suppressed _want_ , his cheeks flushed and pupils blown wide. It looked so _right_ , the chestnut of his hair against the earthy brown of dried leaves. The soft green wool of his sweater clinging to his torso like the moss clinging to the trees. Qrow traced his hand across the V of his neck, pressing in and under, the warm skin of Clover’s collarbone thawing the pads of his fingers.

“ _Qrow…”_

Clover’s voice was low, rough. Almost desperate.

A sharp bark broke the spell, and Qrow heard movement from the house. There was the jangle of Zwei’s collar, stubby legs sprinting across the lawn, and then an annoyed shout.

“My leaves! Who messed up… _Qrow! Qrow is that you?!_ ”

“Shit!”

Clover looked up at him in alarm. “Wait, did we mess something up? Were all those leaves here for a reason?”

“ _Qrow, you are going to pick up every single leaf so help me…!”_

He could practically hear Taiyang shaking his fist in anger. A quick glance of his shoulder confirmed it. And _fuck_ , now Tai was stomping out of the house.

Qrow acted on instinct. He transformed into his bird form, retreating to the roof. Leaving behind one very confused and slightly aroused Clover, lying in the carnage of Tai’s lawn.

“ _Qrow!”_ Clover said. He propped himself up on his elbows, only to take a corgi to the chest and get knocked right back down. “Ooof! Easy, Zwei!”

Zwei did not go easy. He licked Clover’s face, and Clover laughed as he tried to fend him off. “Haha, you like playing in the leaves too, huh?” Clover cooed, holding the dog around his fat middle. Zwei agreed, barking and running in circles around the Atlesian.

Fuck, it was really cute. So cute that Qrow forgot he was supposed to be making a hasty retreat.

“Qrow!” Tai shouted, standing under Qrow’s rooftop perch. “Don’t think you’re getting away that easy!”

Qrow answered with a defiant caw, tilting his beak toward Clover. Whether the message was ‘ _Blame Cloves, not me,’_ or ‘ _Look at this shit, he has leaves in his hair and he’s playing with the dog, I mean come on,’_ was unclear even to him.

Tai’s expression softened as he took in the display. Clover laughing and petting Zwei and apologizing profusely but also idly crunching the remaining leaves under his hands like he couldn’t get over the satisfying feel. Tai sighed. He pointed his index and middle finger at his own eyes, then at Qrow, then went to haul Clover from the ground.

“All right, soldier boy. You want to learn a new weapon? It’s called a rake.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MY ~~CABBAGES~~ LEAVES!


	16. Team (Lucky Ironqrow) (Smut)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Chapter Rating: Explicit**  
>  Chapter Warnings: Light bondage, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, prostate massage
> 
> Me: Huh, 'Team,' maybe I'll write something cute and soft about the Ace Ops  
> Actual Me: *writes filthy OT3 porn*

Clover was a natural peacekeeper. Lots of people found his presence calming, reassuring. People opened up around him. And he didn’t enjoy interpersonal conflict, so he tried to smooth things over whenever possible. Sometimes that meant facilitating an honest conversation, or a friendly spar between recruits.

Today, it meant having his brain melted and body destroyed by two gorgeous men.

“Qrow, I _can’t_ , it’s… _ahhh!_ Unnngh, Qrow, it’s too much, I can’t I _can’t— “_

“I think you can,” Qrow said simply, continuing his assault on Clover’s sweet spot. “What are you always saying to me, Lucky Charm? Take the compliment.”

“I…” Clover panted, turning his face into cool metal. It was no relief. No matter how he squirmed away, Qrow and his damn expert fingers followed. “I already _took it_ _three ti—ieee!”_

He hardly recognized his own voice, such was the noise that Qrow drew out of him.

“You heard that one before, Jim?”

“I believe I have. Always happy to hear it again, though.”

Clover shivered, at James’s voice in his ear. If it wasn’t Qrow’s hands teasing him, torturing him, it was James holding him sinfully open. Clover’s wrists were bound, hooked up and around James’s neck. The position pulled him flush against the larger man. Strong hands, one flesh and one metal, gripped his thighs behind the knee, spreading him wide to be taken at Qrow’s leisure. And Qrow certainly enjoyed taking his time.

All from one—one! Offhand comment. Which Clover had made because he was tired and a bit frustrated at the constant backtalk and one-upmanship that occurred over…he didn’t even remember what, honestly. He just wanted to enjoy a nice, romantic night with his two boyfriends while they all had the night off.

_‘You know, you two actually work amazingly well together when you’re not bickering. You should do it more often.’_

They were doing it.

“Huh,” Qrow said, tilting his head like Clover was a curiosity on display. His crimson eyes flicked up to James, and then he quickened the pace of his hand. Clover all but _screamed_ into James’s shoulder.

James kissed the tears from his eyes, his lips soothing even while his hands refused to yield. “Shhh, there, you’re doing so good, darling. Qrow, I think we can get at least one more out of him, don’t you?”

“My thoughts exactly.”

It was all so much; his cock red and raw and _hard_ against his stomach, a mess of his own release painting his body. The wet squelch of Qrow’s talented fingers working in and out, where they’d both already come inside of him. And then James holding him in place, his hips trapped, unable to either get away or get _more._ He was completely at the mercy of the two men bracketing him.

“Fuck, _Qrow_ , I’m gonna—fuck fuck _fuck_ — _ahhhh!”_

Clover came with a gasp and a grimace, with what felt like his whole body strung taut. Pleasure and pain swam together in a mess of sensation. Qrow was unrelenting, working him through it until he whimpered from overstimulation. James whispered praise in his ear, his grip a grounding anchor as Clover’s legs shook with exhaustion.

He might have passed out a little bit.

The blackness receded, after an indeterminate length of time. When Clover blinked into awareness, Qrow was focused not on him, but just over his shoulder. At James.

“Hmph. Top that, Jimmy.”

“It’s not a competition,” James said. He idly caressed Clover’s thigh as he spoke, soothing sore muscles. “And if it was, I would win.”

“You’re awfully sure of yourself.”

“Please, Qrow. I have experience on my side.”

“Arrogance, more like. I’m just getting started.”

His lovers were really trying to one-up each other while Qrow still had his fingers in him. Rude.

“If one of you could kindly untie me?” Clover panted. Both men turned to look at him.

“You sure you don’t wanna go for five, Lucky Charm?” Qrow asked, with a lazy grin. “Jim, you’re probably close to being able to get it up again, right?”

He emphasized the point by giving his fingers a slow thrust in and out. Clover whined at the sensation. Gods, he would probably just die.

“I’ll take the cuddling now, thanks,” he said. There was a low rumble of a laugh against his back as James moved to unhook his arms.

“You did well,” James said. Clover’s cheeks flushed at the praise. “I love seeing you come apart like that. Something I think Qrow and I both agree on.”

“Hmm,” Qrow hummed, a content and strangely shy smile gracing his delicate face. He reluctantly pulled out, while James worked the knots open. Clover rolled his wrists as he was freed, wincing at the dual sensation of pins and needles along with the soreness and emptiness as Qrow withdrew. James took his hands, rubbing the sensation back into his fingers. Meanwhile, Qrow wiped his hand on the sheets and massaged Clover’s cramped thighs. They were a united force, together easing the aches of his body until Clover was a boneless heap between them. Honestly? The sex was great, but this was his favorite part.

Maybe the bickering wasn’t so bad after all.


	17. Second Chances (Clover/OC)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Rating: I'll be safe and call **Explicit** on this one. Mostly a lot of post-coital dirty talk.  
> Chapter Warnings: Some degrading language, borderline gaslighting. That sounds more traumatic than it is, it's just fuckin' Nico. Nico is his own warning at this point. 
> 
> This one also slots in somewhere between Clover's Academy days and his Ace Ops career. Nico also appears in my one-shot [Five times Clover Ebi Got Caught Crying, and One Time He Caught Someone Else](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25680505), if you want more shitty boyfriend content.

“Gods, Lucky, I swear you’ve only gotten hotter. Just look at you.”

Clover laughed, flexing a little as nimble fingers trailed over his bicep. He wasn’t the only one who had filled out. Nico had always been handsome, but his lean frame had strengthened over the years. Huntsman work had been kind to him. His shoulders were broader, his hands rougher. His skin had gone bronze from the Vacuo sun. In short, he’d evolved into some kind of sex deity, sent from the God of Light himself to pierce Clover’s heart with his clever arrow.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” Clover replied, lounging in blissful contentment. He felt wonderfully debauched, lying here. The buttery-soft sheets were now damp with sweat and…other fluids. His body was still buzzing from the powerful climax he’d just had. And Nico was feeling him up and lavishing him with attention.

“Mmm, that’s not what you were saying earlier,” Nico teased. He rolled on top of Clover, his silver hair falling loose around him like a halo. “I think you were _much_ more enthusiastic.”

Clover gathered the silky strands, brushing them behind Nico’s ear and over one shoulder to flow into a glittering pool on his chest. “I think I expressed a perfectly normal level of enthusiasm.”

Nico leaned in, a wicked grin on his face. “That’s not what I heard. More like ‘ _Oooh, Nico, give me your big cock now! I need you so bad! Give it to me harder! Please, Nico, fill me up like the good little cock slut I am!’”_

All of this was delivered in a high, breathy moan, punctuated with little nips and kisses to Clover’s already swollen lips. He gasped, as Nico nudged his legs open and rolled his hips. He was half hard already, and he wasn’t the only one. Clover shoved Nico’s shoulder lightly, his cheeks flushed.

“I did _not_ say that last part.”

“Hmm, but you could,” Nico teased. One hand came between them, caressing his chest. He found a peaked nipple and rolled it between his thumb and forefinger, drawing out a breathless moan. “Yep, exactly like that. Did I ever tell you that you make the cutest fucking noises?”

Clover had probably made way too many of them, and far too loud, considering the sheer number of people in the Montagu-Martin estate. Thank the gods Nico’s suite was in the East wing. Still, there always seemed to be _someone_ bustling about. He made a mental note to bake some cookies for the staff. Once he could look them in the eye, that is.

Nico continued, imitating Clover’s own moans in a mortifying display, all while doing his best to replicate the experience. Or he just wanted an excuse to shout his own name in bed.

“Do you— _ahhh!”_ Clover whined, as Nico moved to the other nipple. “Do you really need my input here? Sounds like you’re doing a… _hnngh_ …good job of it yourself.”

“Now there’s an idea,” Nico said, grinding his hips down. Clover arched up into him, biting his lip to hold in his cries. “I could just keep your mouth occupied.”

He followed that with a searing kiss, claiming Clover’s lips with his own. It was strange, how different and yet intimately familiar it was. Like Nico still knew him, knew his body, knew all the ways to take him apart. All the hurt, the heartbreak, melted away. All his tears and good judgement were forgotten, and Clover was as helpless as he was at twenty-one.

“Now,” Nico rasped, into his ear. His full weight pressed Clover to the mattress, and he was hard and leaking against his hip. “Tell me who the fuck taught you to suck cock like that while I was gone.”

Many hours and several more rounds later, Clover emerged from the shower having _barely_ slept and about to go straight to his shift on the Mantle wall. He pulled on his discarded uniform from yesterday. Even forgoing his boxers, he instantly felt dirtier.

“Maybe if you didn’t have such a big tasty ass you’d fit a pair of mine,” Nico said, teasing him as he dressed in crisp chinos and a cashmere sweater. “Though I do approve of the easy access.”

“Down, boy,” Clover said, grinning. He would brave the stink and the inherent risk of fighting Grimm while going commando if it meant some extra time with Nico. Primarily for shower sex. “Gods, you look like such a _businessman._ You’re never going to be able to maintain that tan in Atlas, though. _”_

“I’m already looking into cosmetic procedures,” Nico said, with a lazy wave. “And I _am_ a businessman, thank you. I’m telling you, private security is the future. I don’t know what they were thinking with that Ironwood guy.”

“The General?” Clover said, frowning. “I like him. He’s been helping me make Captain. Plus, you know how much my father hates him.”

“Well, that’s a bonus I guess,” Nico said. He strayed past Clover to the balcony, idly combing through his damp hair with his fingers. “You really like him? I heard he was like…disfigured.”

“You shouldn’t talk about people like that,” Clover said, as he buttoned his vest. It always bothered him, when people gossiped about the General. Clover couldn’t imagine going through such an ordeal. “What does it matter? You don’t even know him.”

What mattered was that General Rhea trusted him, and he trusted her. She’d never steered him wrong. And besides, General Ironwood had been nothing but kind to him. There were even rumors he was putting together some kind of elite squad. Clover would _kill_ to be on it.

“Yeah, yeah.” Nico sighed, apparently bored of the topic. “Look, we’ll pull you to the dark side eventually. You could be making twice as much money as you are now. Three times!”

There was no way Clover was leaving the front lines of the Atlas military to go be a bodyguard to some rich old man or corrupt politician. That everyone probably wanted to kill because of their shady business practices. But he wasn’t about to tell Nico what he thought about this little venture. So instead he threw a wink over his shoulder.

“Why do I need to make any more money, now that I have you around to buy me pretty things?”

There was no use denying it. Nico had already ordered him a custom suit for the party tonight, called a car to pick him up, and arranged for a charitable donation to be made on behalf of the Montagu-Martins. Which was a little silly, considering the modest sum Clover was ostensibly donating to charity in their name was in fact coming from their own son. But who even knew anymore. The last twenty-four hours had been such a whirlwind of emotions. He might as well cap it off by being the belle of the ball.

“Hey, uh…look Luck Bug, can you do me a solid?” Nico asked. “Maybe don’t mention to Mom and Dad that we hooked up?”

Clover rolled his eyes, adjusting his belt and making sure Kingfisher was secure. Gods, he’d be _limping_ along the wall. “Yes, Nico, I will refrain from sharing the details of our sex life with your parents.”

There was a silence behind him. Clover frowned, turning. Nico was gazing out the window at the gardens below. There was a familiar curve of guilt to his normally proud spine.

Something small and ugly settled in his gut.

“Oh. You meant…you don’t want them to know we’re together.”

He should have expected it and it shouldn’t have hurt, but he didn’t and it did.

“It’s just going to be a lot of expectations,” Nico said, in a rush. “What with the company, and coming home and everything. And I’ll be kinda busy talking to all of Dad’s friends anyway…”

At Clover’s incredulous look Nico advanced, a charming smile on his face. He tugged Clover in by the belt, his hands snaking around the small of his back. Clover frowned, bracing his palms on Nico’s biceps but lacking the conviction to actually push him away.

“But hey, Lucky, you know I won’t forget about you,” Nico purred, “Gods, I can’t wait to see you in that suit. Maybe we can even sneak into the garden for a little—“

“I can’t _believe_ you. Are you serious?”

The gall. The utter, complete, _gall_ of this man. Was Nico seriously telling him to come to his _parents’ anniversary party_ , a major family occasion, as his _bro_ but still act like eye candy all night? Sneak out for a little blow job in the gazebo?

Nico pouted, an expression that once melted his heart. Now it made him sick. “You don’t know what kind of pressure I’m under, Lucky! With Neve and Yola engaged? If my parents catch wind that there’s the possibility of a _matched set_ I’ll never hear the end of it. They’ll be planning the honeymoon and interviewing surrogates for our babies.”

“And what’s so bad about that?!” Clover cried. At Nico’s snort he rolled his eyes. “Not that last part, smartass. But you don’t think they’ll find out we got back together when the house staff lets it slip that you were _fucking me all night?”_

“Whoa, Lucky,” Nico said, rubbing his back as if to placate him. “Look, I just got back. Don’t go Full Clover on me, okay? Let’s just keep it fun and easy for now.”

“Easy for _you_.”

Gods, what was all that talk last night? The wine, the candlelit dinner. The promises and the apologies and the all-consuming infatuation. ‘ _Leaving you was the biggest mistake of my life, Lucky. Everyone said I was an idiot and they were right. I just want to go back to the way things were between us. I’m good for it this time, I swear. I love you so much, please, I’m nothing without you. I’ll do anything if you just forgive…’_

Nothing had changed. He’d gotten played.

“Hey, we’re cool, right?” Nico said, his gold eyes searching. He leaned in for a kiss and Clover turned his head away. There was a soft huff in his ear, like Clover was a petulant child. “Come on, Luck Bug. Don’t be mad at me.”

Clover shoved him away. Nico grunted, as he was pushed back under the full strength of Atlas’s rising star Huntsman.

“You are such a fucking asshole.”

He never wanted to set foot in this house again.

Clover didn’t hate that he remembered how to sneak out the service entrance, but he hated that he still did it anyway. His semblance had other plans. Neve was coming in as he left, carrying an armful of shopping bags. Her eyes went wide in surprise as she spotted him. “Clover! What are you doing—“

“I hope your brother chokes,” he said, pushing past her and into the cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We fade to black Nico because he doesn't DESERVE his own sex scene.


	18. Gloves (Gen, background Lucky IronQrow)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Rating: T  
> Chapter Warnings: Bit o' blood
> 
> Look, after writing Nico I just wanted Clover to get some nice gentle care.

“Ow ow ow ow ow…!”

“Hush,” his mother said, tugging his wrist back as he tried to pull away. “It’s only going to get worse if you don’t let me see, Clover.”

Reluctantly, Clover let his hand relax and open. His mother efficiently dabbed antiseptic solution on his palm. Her touch was not so much gentle as it was quick. Clover hissed in pain but put up no further complaint, even though it stung so much he wanted to cry.

“There, not so bad,” Ma said, rubbing a thick layer of aloe on the burns. She wrapped his hand in gauze, then gave the back of his hand a gentle pat. “Let’s see the other one.”

Ma held up the antiseptic, waiting. Clover hesitated, his right hand tucked protectively at his side. One steely look from his mother and he cowed under the pressure, revealing his bloodied palm.

His mother sucked in a sharp breath. “Clover…”

“There was a catch in the line,” he said, sheepish. “It, uh…wasn’t as smooth as I thought it was.”

Kingfisher was, as always, a work in progress. He was getting there, he knew it, but the latest iteration still had a few rough edges. Rough edges that made themselves known every time he tried to use the thing. Which was often.

“Which is why we do not _spar_ with _prototypes,”_ Ma chided. “We need to wash this one out a bit more.”

Clover had been trying not to look at it, the oozing blood and the torn skin. He gulped, nodding. Ma led him over to the sink and turned on the tap. She guided his hand under the flow, letting the water wash away the last of the grime. Even though the trickle of water was gentle it still _stung_ , and he felt a bit dizzy.

“Good,” Ma said, turning off the water. She brushed the hair back from his clammy forehead. “Almost done, sweetheart. Try to focus your aura.”

Clover took a deep breath, counting. _In-two-three-four…out-two-three-four-five-six._ It felt dumb to still be counting breaths, but it helped him concentrate. He could feel his aura pooling in his hands, slowing the bleeding to a crawl. Then a stop.

“Good,” Ma repeated, dabbing his hand with gauze to dry the surrounding area. She applied more antiseptic solution and Clover lost his count completely, whining at the sting. “Shhhh, it’s fine,” she assured him. “If it hurts that means it’s not so bad. If you feel nothing, that’s when you’re in real trouble.” 

“In that case this must be really, _really_ not bad,” he said, through gritted teeth.

Ma laughed, the sound itself a balm to his frayed nerves. She applied a healing cream to the open wound, then more aloe to the rope burn around the cut. “See? Making jokes already. We’ve always healed quick. You’ll be good as new by morning, I bet.”

Clover perked up. “Great! Then can I—“

“No, you may not spar with your cousins. Not until you get that line _singing_.”

“But I almost beat Cedar!” he protested.

“And think of how much better it will feel when you don’t have to slice yourself open on raw metal to do it,” she said.

Personally, Clover thought the injury had given him something of a leg up. But that was only because Cedar was dead terrified of getting yelled at by Ma. Still, the prospect of spending the day tweaking Kingfisher wasn’t exactly unwelcome. Assuming he could move his hands by then.

Ma stood, ruffling his hair. “All right, little one. I’ve got to figure out what I can feed you that you can eat with your fingertips.”

“ _Ma_ ,” he said, ducking away from her grip. Gods, he wasn’t some little kid. “Don’t call me that.“

Ma laughed, pulling him into her warm embrace. “Call you what, little one? Sweet baby boy? My dear sweet pookie-ookie cutie pie—“

“ _Ma…!”_

Clover felt simultaneously mortified and comforted. Gods, she was so _embarrassing,_ but at the same time his mother was the only one who truly _got_ him. They shared a semblance. He told her everything. She was there when he first noticed good things happening around him all the time and she was there when he confessed that he maybe, probably, definitely liked boys more than girls. No one else understood him the way she did.

The next day, there was a box for him on the kitchen counter. Clover had never had the experience of injury leading to presents, and so it was a bit of a surprise. But inside, once he’d recruited Cedar to help him open the thing, was a pair of brown leather gloves. Along with a note, unsigned but in an unmistakable cursive scrawl, ‘ _Good luck, little one.’_

* * *

“ _What_ are these?” Qrow said, holding up one weathered glove. “Were these yours? Were your hands ever this tiny?”

“Excuse you,” Clover said, snatching the glove back. The remaining contents of his little box of keepsakes were spread out on the coffee table. “My hands were a perfectly normal size for a 14-year-old.”

Clover didn’t mention that the rest of his body had the proportions of an adolescent kitten, but that was neither here nor there. Qrow and James didn’t need to know about his awkward teen years. The photos were in a separate, much more secure location.

“These must be quite special, for you to save them for so long,” James said, the second brown glove cradled in his much larger white ones.

“Well, I outgrew them in a year,” Clover said, smiling. “And I settled on the fingerless style, as Kingfisher got more elaborate.”

He rubbed his palm, thinking of the soothing feel of aloe on his wounds. The medicinal smell always transported him back. To sharp teal eyes, kind touches, gentle strength.

“But…yeah, these were pretty special,” he said. “Mostly because of the person who gave them to me.”

Qrow leaned into his shoulder, snuggling close. “She probably wanted to keep you safe.”

“She must have loved you very much,” James added.

Clover studied the worn glove in his hand. He traced the grooves, the creases left by use. And thought of his mother.

“Yeah, she did.”


	19. Laughter/Tears (Lucky Ironqrow)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Rating: T  
> Chapter Warnings: none
> 
> ...this is pretty cracky. It's crack-adjacent. I'm not sorry.

James was crying when he opened the door.

He’d been hoping to kiss whoever answered the door silly. Had actually got a bit worked up over it, honestly. If it was Clover he’d whirl them around, slam the door shut and press him against it. Ravage his mouth until his cheeks went pink and he moaned helpless against Qrow’s lips. James he’d go the opposite. Sultry and enticing, one lick of his lips and a long pan up his body, making it absolutely clear what he intended to do. He wasn’t sure which one he wanted more, at this point.

He got James, but not at all the way he wanted. Qrow immediately went into panic mode. This was unprecedented. “Oh, gods…what’s wrong, Jimmy?”

“It’s Clover,” James said, sniffling and dabbing at his eyes. His sleeve was damp with tears. “ _Gods_ , I’ve made a huge mistake.”

“What about Clover? Is he okay?! Are you okay? What mistake???”

James wasn’t just crying; he looked _miserable._ Qrow’s mind immediately went to a million dark places. Clover was hurt. Clover was _dead_. Clover and Jimmy had some kind of terrible fight that was somehow also his fault, and now this whole thing was about to fall apart like he always knew it would.

“You’ll see,” James said. Qrow tried to peer over his shoulder into the apartment, but the man was too damn bulky.

“I’ll see what? Jim—”

James shook his head, leaning on the doorframe and taking a deep breath. “Just let me enjoy this moment before I have to go back in there.”

Qrow had no idea what was going on. Whatever it was, it was bad.

James took one last deep breath, wiped his eyes, then stepped aside to let him in. Qrow cautiously entered, braced for something terrible. But instead of blood or guts or quiet rage, he was greeted by the smell of buttery pastry and Clover humming along to the radio while he cooked. Apparently unharmed and happy as a clam. He looked back at James, confused.

James started crying again. Big, meaty tears.

“Hey there, pretty bird!” Clover chirped, not at all disturbed by the General of Atlas weeping like a baby. He barely even looked up.

“Cloves, what’s…”

He trailed off as he realized the problem. Which was now affecting him. His eyes stung, as he squinted at the enormous pile of onions Clover was chopping. All the windows were open, the heat of the oven the only thing protecting them from the chill, and still the smell was awful.

“Ugh,” he said, shielding his eyes with his arm. There was no escape. Soon he was weeping as bad as Jimmy, his nose dripping with snot. “Why aren’t you crying?!”

Clover shrugged, splitting another onion as if it were as inoffensive as an apple. “I never have. Just lucky I guess.”

He threw them a wink, the little shit. James retreated to the living room, where a votive candle was lit on the coffee table. He sat on the edge of the couch, hunched over the flame, periodically dabbing his eyes with his handkerchief.

“It’s supposed to help with the crying,” Clover explained, at Qrow’s bewildered stare. “Are you gonna come here and kiss me or what, pretty bird?”

“No,” he snapped. “What do you need so many gods-damned onions?”

The sting was only getting worse. Qrow paced the room, trying to find some relief. It was no use; the main living area was just one big room. He pressed his palms to his eyes, groaning as tears continued to leak out.

“Caramelized onion tart,” Clover replied, as if it were obvious. “It’ll cook down.” To James he called, “Baby, you said you wanted to help!”

“I change my mind,” James groaned. He pressed the handkerchief to his nose and gave an enormous blow. “I wouldn’t be able to see what I’m doing in any case.”

Clover waved his knife through the air, chiding him. “Well, if you sharpened your knives more often it wouldn’t be so bad. And _where_ do we never put them?”

“In your body,” Qrow said.

James sighed. “…in the dishwasher.”

“Damn straight,” Clover replied. He _tsk’ed_ , shaking his head. “I hope you treat your guns better.”

Qrow also hoped Jimmy didn’t put his guns in the dishwasher.

“Pretty bird, do you want to help with the custard?” Clover asked, batting his eyelashes purely for fun and not necessity.

“Cloves,” he moaned, wiping his eyes for the tenth time. His sleeve was soaked. “It’s _so bad_ in here.”

“Well it should clear out once I start sautéing— _Qrow…!”_

Qrow couldn’t take it anymore. He transformed into his bird form, flying in laps around the apartment. The sting in his eyes eased right away. Relieved, he flew into the kitchen and perched on Clover’s shoulder. Finally, he could give him a proper greeting. He cooed and nuzzled the chestnut hair at his temple, grooming a few stray strands. Teal eyes, annoyingly dry, gave him an amused look.

“Well, hello to you too,” he said, with a warm chuckle that made Qrow’s heart hammer in his avian chest. “Better?”

His eyes started stinging again. And not out of happiness.

Apparently it was just a delayed reaction. He cawed right in Clover’s ear, gave it a nip for good measure, and flew out the window. Clover laughed despite the assault, following him to the balcony and leaning against the door. It was marginally better on the railing, even though it was fucking freezing.

“Huh,” Clover said. “I didn’t know birds could cry, though I suppose it makes sense. Do you want to come back later?”

Qrow tilted his head at the doorway. Clover glanced over his shoulder to the living room, where James was trying to find a dry spot on his handkerchief. Coming up empty, he pulled his tie off and used it to wipe his nose.

“Oh, him? He’s not allowed to leave until he’s paid for his crimes against cutlery.” Clover shook his head, scandalized. “I swear he’s been opening _jars_ with those knives.”

Qrow’s vocal range as a crow, while admittedly impressive, did not allow him to break the news that he had used knives for all sorts of unintended purposes throughout his life and at the end of the day they still worked pretty well for stabbing.

Clover held out a finger, petting his head gently. “Sorry for catching you in the crossfire. Come back in half an hour, okay? I’ll give you a special treat.”

Now _that_ was more like it.

It was a good night for a fly. Qrow extended one wing, preening a bit to show off, then hopped off the balcony and flew into the fading light. Clover’s laugh echoed in his mind as he caught the breeze, lifting him up. 

Fuck. Wait. The treat was probably more onions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things I googled today:
> 
> do birds cry when you chop onions  
> can birds cry  
> why do birds cry  
> tear gland birds
> 
> ...and that is how I used my institutional login to view scientific articles on bird tears.


	20. Past (Ironluck)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Rating: T  
> Chapter Warnings: none
> 
> We're two-thirds of the way through! This one takes place in the "I'll Keep It With Mine" timeline as well, sometime between James and Clover hooking up in chapter 11 of this fic and Chapter 1 of Keep It.

“The General seems like he’s in better sprits, doesn’t he?” Elm mused, one eye on the front of the mess hall. Clover glanced over his shoulder. James was chatting amicably with the kitchen staff, a mug of something steaming in his hands. He suppressed a smile, thinking about how those hands had felt roaming over his body. Teasing, caressing, then finally moving right where he wanted and taking him in his—

“You too, boss. You get laid or something last night?”

Clover choked on air. Elm laughed as he coughed, patting him on the back until he had his breathing under control. “ _Elm_ ,” he pleaded.

“What? You don’t want to brag today?”

“Can’t I just be in a good mood?” Clover said, stabbing at his pancakes. His annoyance dissipated as he took a bite. Whoever was on the griddle was on their A game today, and he nearly groaned in bliss. The pancakes were soft and fluffy, slightly tangy from the buttermilk, studded with bright pops of blueberries and topped with butter. Along with a drizzle of maple syrup from his private stash and, Clover’s secret, a little sprinkle of flaky salt, he was in heaven.

Or maybe everything just tasted better when you were having mind-blowing sex.

“You’re carbing up,” Elm noted. “And you brought your fancy toppings from the lounge.”

“I simply enjoy the finer things in life,” Clover replied, defiantly dousing his pancakes with an extra layer of syrup. Whatever, he could have an elaborate pancake breakfast at 0700 on a Wednesday if he wanted. He was fucking invincible. Or at least it felt that way.

Elm laughed, trying to pull him into a friendly headlock. Clover ducked, scooting himself and his pancakes a few feet down the bench.

“Come on, boss! I need details! Who is it?”

“Is your sex life so boring that you need to hear about mine?” Clover said, deflecting. A curl of worry formed in the back of his mind, chipping at his good mood. Gods, he would need a better poker face if this was gonna work.

And it was going to work. Clover just had a good _feeling_ about this one. Maybe it made perfect sense; he’d known James for so long, it was easy to be around him. James wasn’t some random pretty face, looking for a little relief between shifts. They were friends first. And the sex… _gods_ , the sex was amazing. While James trailed him in, ah… _breadth_ of experience, he more than made up for it in depth of enthusiasm. He was attentive and considerate in the bedroom, and he had an almost preternatural ability to drive Clover wild.

This was it. This was the one that would stick. Gods, he already felt so far gone, and it had only been…

“…boss?”

“Hmm?” Clover blinked, turning to her. Oh. He was just staring at the wall thinking of James, a forkful of pancakes cooling in the recycled air.

Elm waggled her eyebrows. “That good, huh?”

“Shut it, Ederne,” he said, his cheeks flushing. Elm gave a hearty laugh, loud and obnoxious, drawing the eyes of a few other tables. Clover chanced a quick look over his shoulder.

Blue eyes met his, smoldering.

It was just a moment, a split second in the din of the pre-shift mess hall. But in that moment Clover felt such intense _desire_ for this beautiful, intelligent, complicated man. For everything he was, everything he’d been through. The man he’d become. Clover wanted to know it all, to gulp down every precious story and offer up his own.

Clover looked away first.

He drew in a breath, hoping Elm wouldn’t see his heart beating in his chest. _Calm down, Clover. Easy._

This time was different. This time was real. He wouldn’t make the same mistakes as before, asking too much too fast. Putting all his bullshit on someone else and expecting that it wouldn’t change things. He would be better this time. Because James deserved it, deserved only his best.

Maybe then James would love him, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clover, Clover, Clover. You are an unreliable narrator.


	21. Support (Lucky IronQrow) (Smut)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Rating: **Explicit**  
>  Chapter Warnings: None
> 
> Just some old men giving each other sweet love. Clover can have little a smut, as a treat.

There was never not something to do. Which suited Clover fine, because he genuinely liked having things to do. In fact, given an abundance of free time he started to go a little stir-crazy. So the to-do list in the back of his mind was something of a comfort, ensuring he always had a project to tackle. Something to occupy his thoughts.

It’s just that the list was a lot longer some days than others.

Jaune was feeling insecure as a leader, so Clover sat him down to talk shop. Which then led into _relationship_ advice, of all things, prompting a check-in with Marrow. Marrow was grateful for the sympathetic ear but actually was more upset by something careless Harriet had said. So then he had to pull her aside and convince her to at least be more courteous in her speech, if not her intentions.

On and on, little fires threatening to ignite into blazes if left long enough. Reports that needed to be filed. Other squads jockeying for resources or recognition. Dignitaries that needed placating by someone photogenic. Clover was happy to help, he really was. There was that old saying, right? ‘ _When you love your job, you’ll never work a day in your life._ ’ And that was…this wasn’t _work_. None of this was in his job description, he just liked the people involved. He just wanted everything to run smoothly.

It all capped off spectacularly with a task that was thoroughly personal and yet so draining that it left him at a complete loss.

_“Honestly, Clover, you expect me to just **give in** like that? I hope this isn’t what your relationship is like. If you can even call it that.” _

Clover paced a wide circle around the bed, biting his fist to keep from shouting everything he wanted to say. “Sir,” he ground out, thankful his father wasn’t fond of video calls. “With all due respect, you’re wrong on this one. Buy some flowers and apologize.”

He kept it at that, leaving on his tongue the fact that Clover’s relationship was _none of his business_ and the Colonel was just _deflecting_ , and giving in _wasn’t the same thing as defeat._ Gods, he should just leave the man to self-destruct. At least then he wouldn’t have to think about his father sucking face with some annoying woman ever again.

_“…I suppose I can try that. If you insist.”_

“Great,” Clover said, voice strained. “Thank you for hearing me out.”

As soon as the call ended, Clover screamed into his elbow.

Qrow and James were in the living room, curled on the couch watching a movie and pretending like they hadn’t been eavesdropping.

“Everything okay?” Qrow asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Peachy,” Clover said, his smile hopefully convincing, “Have either of you eaten anything more substantial than popcorn?”

He started rifling through the cabinets, knowing the answer already. There was a wilted bunch of kale in the refrigerator, which together with some beans and pasta would make a nice hearty bowl. Maybe he could dress it up with a little…

“Clover,” James said, suddenly beside him. “You don’t have to cook, really. I can order something.”

“This will go bad,” Clover said, holding up the kale. It drooped in his hand, to emphasize his point.

“Will it keep one more day?”

“Well…” Clover hesitated. When you put it like _that_ , sure, most things could last one more day. But James and Qrow had terrible eating habits, and they could both use something healthy and filling. And Clover liked feeding people, he really did. Sure, right now he wasn’t feeling at his best, but once he got going everything would be fine.

“Alright,” James said, taking his silence as an answer. He plucked the kale from his fist, returned it to the refrigerator, then led Clover back to the couch by the shoulders. His touch was half massaging and half pushing. “Qrow, preferences?”

“Pizza,” Qrow grunted.

“Salad,” Clover replied. Qrow gave him an affronted look.

“How about sushi?” James asked, as he guided Clover onto the sofa. Clover considered it.

“I suppose I can accept tha— _aaaahhhh_!”

As soon as his ass made contact with the couch cushion, Qrow was on him. He cut in between Clover and an equally surprised James, swinging a leg over Clover’s hips to straddle him. A pale hand pushed him back into the seat.

“Lucky Charm, you’ve been taking care of everyone else all day. Why don’t you let us take care of you for a change?”

Well.

Clover had a few arguments to that, chiefly that the two of them obviously needed Clover seeing as how they could hardly take care of _themselves_ most days. But at he went to voice that thought it was lost to pale pink lips against his. Qrow pressed in close, swallowing his protest and offering his wicked tongue in exchange. It was all he could do to open up, helpless against the assault.

“Do I…” Clover gulped, when Qrow let him up for air. “Do I get a say in this or…?”

James knelt on the couch next to them, cupping his cheek and tilting his chin to the side. “I think Qrow’s idea is best, don’t you, Darling?”

Qrow took the opening, kissing and nipping his way along Clover’s jaw. Clover whimpered, his resolve quickly draining. “I’m fine really, I…I mean if you want to…I… _ahhh, Qrow!_ ”

“Hmm,” Qrow murmured, into the collarbone he’d just sunk his teeth into. “Jimmy said I had a good idea, _and_ I’ve got you screaming my name already. Lucky me, huh?”

_Well._

Everything else fell away, and _of course_ they ended up in the bedroom. It was all a whirlwind to Clover, his two lovers coordinating expertly until he was pressed between them. James was on his back against the mattress, Clover lying almost on top of him while Qrow thrust into him from behind.

“Gods, Cloves, you feel so fucking good around me,” Qrow murmured, one hand at Clover’s hip and the other joined with James’s metal. James, for his part, was supporting both of their weight, his flesh hand between him and Clover with both their cocks in his grip. It was nearly overwhelming, Qrow fucking into him while James worked his shaft. He cried out, as Qrow brushed against his sweet spot over and over.

“That’s it, darling,” James said, his hand speeding up. “You’re so close, you’re doing so good. Come for us, now.”

The praise went straight to his dick, and with a few more delicious strokes he was _there_ , coming hard into James’s hand. James was just a few seconds behind, spilling his release onto both of them. Finally Qrow, grunting as Clover clenched around him. He went erratic with his thrusts, pushing Clover just to the point of overstimulation, before he buried himself deep. His hips stilled, and Clover felt a splash of warmth inside him.

It was James who finally made the move to clean up, nudging him and Qrow until they let him up. Qrow grunted as he pulled out, gathering Clover to his chest as he rolled onto his back. And there they would have stayed, in a sticky heap, were it not for James coming to their rescue with a damp washcloth.

“Gods, you two look gorgeous,” James said, gently cleaning them both off.

“You too,” Clover said, blissed out. Qrow pressed a kiss to his temple and he made a contented hum. “Both of you. Gods, I…you’re both so…I’m just…”

it was all just overwhelming. Emotionally, physically. Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes and he trailed off, unable to articulate himself for once.

Qrow kissed the tears from one eye, while James thumbed at the other. He felt completely exposed, open between them. Every hurt and ache that simmered under the surface was floating to the top, to be skimmed off by these two magnificent men.

“We know,” Qrow rasped, his hand trailing up Clover’s side.

James leaned in pressing a kiss to his lips. Then to Qrow’s.

“It’s okay. We’ve got you.”


	22. Blessed (Gen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Rating: G  
> Chapter Warnings: none
> 
> Tiny! Cute! Boy! Clover! 
> 
> For a little backstory here, Clover's mother Amaranth shares the same semblance as him and grew up in a little town outside Argus.

The crops never failed in Engimono. The winters were snowy but not overly harsh. They were blessed by rain in the Spring and sun in the Summer. In early autumn the harvest yielded rye and sorghum and her own namesake, and they took it to the markets in Argus to sell. And then the cycle started again, clover seeds scattered to nourish the soil for another year. Then there was nothing to do but celebrate. 

It was a lucky town, and Amaranth was a lucky person. And one autumn, six years ago, she had stood in a crimson field on her grandfather’s old farm and wished with all her heart for a baby. 

It felt right to take Clover here. He was her gift, her light. As an infant he hardly cried, was never ill. At five he was kind hearted and precocious, eager to please. Amaranth didn’t know why the gods had granted her such good fortune. What the Brothers saw in her. But fortune was her constant companion, made corporeal in tiny fingers and toes, bright teal eyes, sun-freckled skin. Everyone in town remarked on how much he looked like her. Even those petty souls that liked to whisper about semblances found it in themselves to compliment her on a job well done.

Sometimes she thought she’d willed him into existence through luck alone.

“Mama, look! Look what I found!”

Clover ran up, clutching something in his hands. There were grass stains on his knees and his fingertips were caked in dirt. Amaranth braced herself, expecting a bug or a mouse, or gods forbid something dead. The environment was so different here than in Atlas, and her son was endlessly charmed by it. But he was also a little boy who liked to dig up worms.

“What have you got there, little one?” she said, cautious.

As he opened his cupped hands before her, he revealed something precious instead. A bright four-leaf clover, picture-perfect. She picked it up by the stem, as careful and gentle as if she were holding her son himself, and held it up to the light.

“ _This_ is a very lucky find,” she said, smiling. “These are quite rare, you know.”

“I know,” Clover said. He crawled into her lap, and she laughed as she shifted to accommodate him. He was getting too big to be climbing over her like this, but Amaranth was weak for it. As long as she lived he’d always be her baby boy, her blessing.

She wrapped an arm around him, holding the clover out so they could both admire it. Her son reached out, touching the soft leaf, then running his fingers across the pin on her lapel. It was half the size of his little hand.

“I wanted one like yours,” he said, tracing the four petals of the badge.

Amaranth felt a tingle go up her spine.

She tucked the little leaf behind Clover’s ear, the four symmetric petals a contrast to the mop of loose curls on his head. “Clover,” she said, carefully. “What do you mean you wanted one like mine?”

“I just wanted to find one,” Clover replied, unbothered. “I wished I would and I did.”

Amaranth’s heart skittered in her breast. All this time…

Coincidence. It was just a coincidence. You didn’t need to be lucky to have good luck. Or maybe her control was slipping. After all, who didn’t want nice things for their child?

Round green eyes looked up at her, sensing her trepidation. “Is that okay? Can I keep it?”

“Of course,” she said, smiling in reassurance. “We’ll press it in a book when we get back to town, hmm? So it doesn’t wilt?”

Clover nodded, yawning and snuggling closer to her side. The afternoon sun was fading, the light going yellow as it started to droop below the pines. She’d best get him into the car unless she wanted to juggle a sleepy five-year-old along with all their belongings.

“Come on, little one,” she said, giving him a gentle nudge. “It’s getting late.”

Clover protested but obeyed, helping her pack up and toddling behind her to their rented car. Predictably, he fell asleep on the drive home. As the sky went dark Amaranth glanced up at the mirror, keeping watch over his sleeping face. The roads were clear and safe. All her favorite songs came on the radio. The four-leaf clover behind her baby’s ear remained fresh and pristine.

John grumbled when they got back to the Argus house. “You’re back later than I thought,” he complained, meeting her in the driveway.

“You could’ve come,” she teased, though she knew the reason why. John couldn’t stand the gossip. He glanced at Clover, sleeping peacefully in the backseat.

“I…was worried,” he admitted. Blue-gray eyes met hers.

There he was. There was the man she loved.

“I’ll call next time, I promise,” she said. She cupped his cheek and gave him a quick kiss. “Can you get him inside?”

Though John’s words were gruff his touch was gentle, careful not to jostle Clover as he lifted the sleeping child. Clover stirred but didn’t wake, curling into his father’s arms like a koala. Amaranth smiled. He was so serious; she liked seeing him be soft like this.

John gave her a wry look, as he noticed the lucky charm behind Clover’s ear. He tapped it with one finger.

“Your doing, Ama?”

“No.”

John blinked, confused. Amaranth took a deep breath.

“We need to talk about Clover.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow I can't believe Colonel Dad wasn't a total shit for once.


	23. Worn (Fairgame, background Lucky Ironqrow)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Rating: T  
> Chapter Warnings: Bit of parental-induced anxiety
> 
> OH MY GOD THERE'S ONLY ONE WEEK LEFT. GUHHHHH.
> 
> Joking aside it's been kinda nice having a daily writing goal. I feel like it's pushed me to try a couple different styles, while also letting me purge some more self-indulgent ideas. Today's is another vaguely I'll Keep It With Mine-compliant fic, taking place sometime after what's currently published (namely the Dad Arc conclusion in ch. 7). 
> 
> For general account updates, my big project in December is going to be trying to finish Neverending Summer. One nice thing about Clovember is it's helped me set aside dedicated writing time, which I've really enjoyed! Now that I know what I'm capable of, I'm ready to commit to those last three chapters. 2021 will see the return of Keep It and Like Sugar to my Heart, two series that I just lost energy on for a bit. So thank you to patient readers who have indulged me through this month of silliness and backstory, and all of October when I was just too burnt out to write much at all. I'm genuinely excited to return to these projects next month. <333

Clover was going crazy. He’d looked everywhere. The closet, the dresser, the laundry bin. He flicked his pin and made a wish and still nothing. Then he thought maybe he left it in the laundry room, so he’d hoofed it down the hall and sorted through the lost and found. Which held many (hopefully laundered) gym socks but no hockey jersey.

Eventually he acknowledged that the article was beyond recovery. He trudged back to his apartment, took in the mess he’d made, and called Qrow in a panic.

_“…Lucky Charm? What’s up?”_

Qrow sounded like he’s been napping, and Clover really did feel bad about that, but right now he needed his partner. He put his scroll on speaker so he could shove all the dirty clothes back into the closet where they belonged. “Qrow? I need backup.”

There was a thump and a curse on the other line. _“Are you okay? Where are you???”_

Oh. He should have been more specific.

“Qrow, I’m fine, relax,” he said, a relieved little laugh escaping his chest. The rush of panic quieted enough that he could focus. “I’m at my place. Look, can you come over?”

A pause on the line. Then, _“Your dad’s coming over tonight?”_

Clover let out a breath. “Yeah,” he said. He paced the apartment, running a hand through his hair. “I just…things are still…I thought it wouldn’t be stressful anymore but I just had a pile of paperwork and it took forever and my place isn’t clean and I…I can’t find my _fucking_ hockey jersey.”

Patching things up didn’t make it easy. Clover had spent thirty-five years having anxiety-induced heart palpitations every time his father opened his mouth, and just because the man was trying to get right with the gods it didn’t erase all those learned behaviors. He still felt like he was bracing himself for a cut. It was almost worse having him on his own turf, his whole home and his whole self on display as open season for criticism.

His nerves were already shot and the man wasn’t due for forty minutes. 

He took another shaky breath in, then out. “My head’s just not ready for him right now and I…I need you there, okay?”

_“…you said you can’t find your hockey jersey?”_

“Yeah,” Clover said. “I know it’s dumb I just…”

He trailed off, hearing more cursing and banging. “…Qrow?”

_“I’m on my way!”_

The line went dead.

Clover had about two seconds to ponder how his earnest plea for help had just been received, and then the panic set back in. He declared the bedroom a lost cause and just shoved everything into the closet, praying his father wouldn’t go in there. Okay, living room. Fluff the cushions, dust the coffee table. Do a frantic sweep for evidence of his second secret boyfriend. There was a tiny screwdriver on the sideboard, which was fairly oblique, but Clover shoved it back in the junk drawer for good measure. Then the kitchen. Okay, beer was cold and— _fuck Qrow was coming did he have—_ okay, there were a few seltzers left. Clover checked his scroll. Fuck, he should probably order the pizza.

The doorbell rang and he jumped about five feet in the air. He pulled open the door, relieved. “Qrow, thank the gods you’re…”

Qrow shoved an armful of laundry at him. “I’m sorry!”

Clover looked at the pile of fabric in his arms. Huh. There was his Atlas hoodie. Another thick sweater. A pair of gray sweatpants. A light denim coat. A few scattered t-shirts. And…his hockey jersey.

“Was this all at your place?”

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Qrow moaned. He looked miserable. “Some of it was shit you left at my place, some was stuff I borrowed when I stayed here. I know I should have brought it back but…”

“Qrow,” he said, processing all of that. A laugh bubbled up from his chest. “ _Qrow._ Have you…you’ve been hoarding my clothes!”

“I _know,_ I’m sorry, it’s just that they’re so warm and they kinda smelled like you and—mmmph!”

Clover dropped the pile of clothes in the doorway and pulled Qrow in for a kiss. Qrow pitched forward, bracing himself on the door frame for balance as Clover tugged him in. Their lips met in a messy clash, slowly smoothing out to a tender kiss. Qrow was a little breathless when he released him.

“Wow. I, uh…really thought you’d be more upset.”

Clover grinned. “Qrow, thinking of you wearing my hockey jersey is the only thing that’s brought me genuine joy today.”

“Yeah, well I did wash some of it. But then I wore it again and…” Qrow bent to pick up the jersey, and they were still standing so close that the sight of Qrow bending down did dangerous things to him.

Clover leaned forward, sniffing the offered jersey. It was so a blend of the two of them; the fabric familiar from years of wear but the detergent Qrow’s. The faint scent of his sweat and cologne pooling in the material. Gods, it was loose on Clover so Qrow must be _drowning_ in it. It would probably fall on his upper thigh, long legs peeking out from the hem as it came dangerously close to…

Qrow smirked, as he noticed Clover’s expression. “…you’re turned on, aren’t you?”

“Little bit.”

“…you don’t have to wear it,” Qrow said, his cheeks flushing. “I kinda slept in it already.”

Gods, just kill him.

Clover plucked it from his hands. “Nope. I’m doing it. Unless you want to?”

“I’d rather not have your dad try to shoot me today, no.”

Clover groaned, all thoughts of arousal flying from his head. The panic started setting in again. “Oh, gods. The Colonel. Fuck, what time is it? I should…I need to…”

“Cloves,” Qrow said, gently. He reached up, rubbing the back of Clover’s neck. “It’s okay. I’ll be here with you.”

Breathe.

Clover waited for his heart to calm. It didn’t work entirely, a little beat of _something_ remaining in his chest. But here, with Qrow, it was easier to remember who he was. Not a timid child, not a mindless soldier. Just Clover.

“Thanks, Qrow.”


	24. Journey (Fairgame)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Rating: T  
> Chapter Warnings: None
> 
> It's more soft Fairgame in Patch!

“You’ve really changed, you know that?”

At Qrow’s look of horror Taiyang laughed, slinging the dish towel over his shoulder and putting his hands up. “Hey, I mean that in a good way! Though you do look a little older than the last time I saw you.”

“Still younger than you,” Qrow snorted. “And I’ve been told I look distinguished.”

As a matter of fact he’d been told he looked _fucking hot_ , and he had the love bites to prove it.

Qrow leaned against the back door, his forehead to the glass as he watched the activity outside. The girls were trying to explain the rules—which was a generous term—of Xiao Long-Rose Death Mallet, also known as croquet. Sort of. There was a lot of gesturing, some argument between Ruby and Yang as they alternately placed the wickets for maximum difficulty. Nora was already taking practice swings, so obviously in her element that the wooden balls were practically quaking. Jaune and Oscar had wisely teamed up. Weiss seemed both offended and confused by the game.

Blake and Ren had the right idea, sitting it out. Blake was lounging in the hammock with a book, and Ren was sitting crossed-legged against the house with Zwei in his lap, watching. Neither of them were anywhere near the course, if you could call it that, but you never could be too careful in this house. 

And then the sixth player, Clover. Who had probably figured out before Weiss that the point of the game was less about hitting your ball through the wickets and more about hitting another player’s ball with your own. He was standing close enough that Qrow could see the secret little smile on his lips as he patiently listened to the rules. His green mallet was slung over one shoulder, and he was using the head of it to idly scratch the center of his back.

It was so fucking cute Qrow wanted to scream.

“Nice view out there today, eh?”

Qrow startled, his forehead striking the glass with a loud bang. Oh, right. He was talking to Tai.

The noise caught Clover’s attention, and before Qrow could move back he’d been spotted. Clover threw him a wink and a cheeky salute, before swinging his hammer around and taking a few practice swings. The set was made for someone much shorter. He, uh…had to bend down quite a bit.

“Maybe,” he mumbled, cheeks flushing. Clover wiggled his perfect ass and took an experimental putt. The glass was getting kind of fogged up.

“Sure you don’t want to play?” Tai teased, from the sink. Which had the perfect view of both the game outside and the disaster inside. “Looks like your boyfriend could use a few pointers.”

“I’m good,” Qrow said, his voice a bit strained. Gods, he had to look away.

“You could team up.”

“You could have property damage.”

It was a credible threat. His semblance didn’t do well with flying balls. Last time they’d had to replace three windows.

Tai tossed the kitchen towel at him, which he barely caught. “All right, lover boy, if you’re not going to _putt_ out then help me dry.”

Qrow groaned at the pun. “Ugh, you said we weren’t allowed to help!”

“I said _Clover_ wasn’t allowed to help,” Tai corrected. “Clover is a guest. You are family.”

Clover would have enjoyed washing dishes, the little clean freak, but he was equally happy playing games with the kids and quietly torturing Qrow by wearing pants much too tight for sports. Qrow peeked over Tai’s shoulder as he reluctantly dried each dish. Clover was pouting toward the abandoned back door, but when he spotted Qrow in the adjacent window he unabashedly beamed. He turned, said something in response to Ruby, then stretched his mallet over his shoulders. Resting it behind his neck like a barbell.

Qrow was going to steal that gods-damned mallet and take it back to Atlas. 

“I mean it, you know,” Tai said, more serious this time. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this happy.”

_Happy_ was an understatement. Qrow didn’t even know _what_ he felt. He felt like he might keel over and die every time Clover looked at him. Touched him. Whispered his praises until Qrow was breathless and dizzy. He never got over it, never quite believed he deserved it, and yet…and yet.

Clover was here. In Patch. Qrow watched as he wound up and took a shot, the elegant arch of his back and the muscled expanse of his shoulders as he twisted back and swung his mallet. His ball sailed across the lawn, rolling neatly through the wicket and solidly into Nora’s. Which hit Yang’s. Which hit Ruby’s. Which careened into a mole hole. Having just sowed chaos among the top three players, Clover threw a cheeky look over his shoulder at the kitchen window.

Qrow shook his head, chuckling at the commotion that erupted outside. He turned his focus back to drying dishes. They worked in silence for a moment, Tai passing him glasses and bowls. It didn’t even occur to Qrow that he might break something.

“Yeah,” he said, finally. “I’m pretty happy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Xiao Long-Rose Death Mallet is an homage to the Bridgerton romance novels by Julia Quinn. I imagine the Patch version of the game is equally as chaotic as Bridgerton Pall Mall. And was probably pioneered by Summer.


	25. Home (Lucky IronQrow)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Rating: T  
> Chapter Warnings: None
> 
> Qrow, James, and Clover reflect on home before the holidays. Continuation tomorrow!

They never stayed in one place for long.

If it wasn’t the seasons and the forest dictating resources, it was the Grimm and their latest targets. Staying in place meant putting down roots that could be ripped up. No, best to be mobile. Flexible. As routine as would be efficient but not so predictable as to make them targets for the law. Go where they needed when they needed to. Stay no longer than necessary.

By the time he was seventeen Qrow had seen most of Mistral and yet he _knew_ no one outside his tribe.

Beacon changed that. Not only was he stuck in the same place for four years, but stuck with the same people. Tai and Summer were a shock to their systems. At first so easily dismissed but at the same time impossible to ignore. When the stability of it all was almost too much to bear, the world obliged them by changing. Their bodies obliged them. Ozpin obliged them.

Maybe if Qrow had been some sheltered hayseed he wouldn’t have been so quick to join this war. But he wasn’t. He was jaded and scared and looking for a cause, and he found one. 

In place of _tribe_ there was _team,_ and the unknown fears that lurked were no worse than the fear of starvation. Better, even. For the first time Qrow felt meaningful, powerful. They put down roots while risking their lives, because for the first time life seemed so bright and true and _real_ that it had to be explored in every facet.

He still remembered the day Yang was born. His niece. The new generation.

Everything changed when Raven left.

It hadn’t even occurred to him that she might. Because he’d seen the haunted look in her eyes some nights. He’d seen the way she pulled back, from Tai and Summer and even her own daughter. Raven was prickly, she was…flighty, to put a fine point on it. But they were blood, a package deal. He never thought she’d _leave._

And thus the last connection to his entire childhood disappeared without a trace. 

* * *

James had grown up privileged.

He could admit that, easily. The Ironwoods were an old family, one of the first to make the move to Atlas. The Great War had been kind to them; both in the years preceding and in the aftermath. Their money was generational, not industrial. And they’d always been averse to politics.

James couldn’t claim the virtue of his entire family tree, but at least the people who’d raised him had been kind. His mother and father were anything but the cruel elite, the Jacques Schnees of the world. They never forgot their roots, made ample charitable contributions, and taught James to be kind to all, human and faunus.

When they died it was a knife to his heart.

Cancer took them both. All the money in the world couldn’t stop the spread, rapid and unrelenting. First his father, his strength sapped slowly from his bones. He never smoked a day in his life, and yet…and yet. Less than a year later his mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. He would never forget her resolve, in those final months. Her courage.

“James, you have a responsibility,” she said to him. She was so small. “You have a _duty_ , do you understand? To the people.”

She brought her hand to his cheek, with effort. He held it to his skin, tears cascading over both of their palms. He wasn’t ready for this conversation. Wasn’t ready to let go. “Mother…”

“I love you so much,” she said. “Please be brave.”

The house wasn’t the same after that.

The ancestral Ironwood home was mostly boarded up, now. James had no stomach for opulence. Not without his mother in her pearls charming the room, his father pouring drinks freely. Investments languished, accruing interest that would never be collected. He sent yearly bonuses to staff members he hadn’t seen in decades. People who had moved on, found other work, and yet James had a _responsibility_.

He could have afforded a luxury penthouse in central Atlas, and yet he chose the humble Headmaster’s quarters. Because they were closer to work. To his duty. Even then, most days he spent more time in the office.

Work was more a home than rest, until he fell in love.

* * *

What exactly was it that made a house a home?

Was it a place, a set of objects, a familiar surrounding? Because Clover knew the Ace Ops lounge like the back of his hand and he’d still be hard-pressed to call it home. His desk and the spare, the little kitchenette, the worn sofas and the row of lockers and the dart board with its collection of surrounding holes in the wall that _for the record_ Clover had never contributed to.

Or was home a Manta, flying over a drop location? A Grimm nesting site that always popped up? A section of the Mantle wall he’d paced a thousand times? The briefing room? James’s office?

Because the one place it really didn’t feel right was the one place that it should; the two-story brick house in Atlas where he’d resided for the first seventeen years of his life.

Maybe once, it had. There were echoes of laughter in the halls still. Places where he could point to and say, _‘I was happy here, once.’_ But as the years went on the memories faded, overtaken by times when he’d felt lonely, or hurt, or uneasy. They built up and up until the house was ill-fitting; like a too-small shell that needed to be molted so he could move again. Clover wasn’t the same person who once lived here, and so the house rejected him every time he tried to enter.

He started to collect things for himself.

It started with the kitchen. Things he wanted and would use. As his paycheck grew he spent less on cheap disposable items and more on quality. Sharp carbon-steel knives, and a whetstone to keep them so. A bright green enameled cast iron pot. Butcher block cutting boards, a marble slab for pastry, and an enormous copper bowl and a balloon whisk for whipping egg whites. When he ran out of cabinet space he just started hanging things, knives from a magnetic strip and spices on a rack he drilled to the wall and pots and pans suspended from S-hooks on every spare surface. His kitchen wasn’t big but it was wickedly efficient.

It spread from there. He liked to eat at the counter, so he bought two plush bar stools. Then the sofa needed upgrading, from a lumpy unit that had belonged to an indeterminate number of households before passing to a thrift store, then his cousin Cedar, then him. In fact, all of Cedar’s hand-me-downs were slowly replaced. Dishes Val had deemed ugly, and rightly so. A knotty coffee table with water stains and a wobbly leg. A bookcase which had been flimsy in its best days. He replaced his double bed with a queen size, which was a bonus for, uh… _overnight_ visitors.

He started accumulating things. Artwork, for one. Once it got around that Clover enjoyed both fishing and the sea, it seemed everyone had an old painting of the coast they wanted to offload. He started buying pieces of his own. Every time he visited Argus he left with a painting; a massive watercolor of jellyfish, or a tiny oil painting of a puffin or a grebe. And then books upon books. Clover was an avid reader, and he adored the old-style paper bound books. Even, and maybe especially, dog-eared detective novels. Books were crammed in every available corner, of which there were increasingly few.

It was nice. More than nice. It was lovely, to have his little space. But that wasn’t really a proper home, was it? Those were just his selfish little things. How could it be a home, if he was all alone?

* * *

“A tree, _a tree!_ Qrow, you’re a genius, we can get a tree!”

Clover was practically bouncing, his forest-green scarf unlooping and falling loose around his neck. He grinned wide, pulling his boyfriends into the makeshift tree yard. “Okay, it should be big, right? I mean what else is the point?”

“Big, he says,” Qrow commented, throwing James a sly look. James flushed bright red. Though he would absolutely blame it on the cold, if he could.

James cleared his throat. “Right. Well, it has to fit inside your apartment, darling, so keep that in mind.”

Clover tilted his head, a little crinkle forming between his brows. “You don’t want it at your place?” And then, belatedly, “…or at Qrow’s?”

“We all know mine’s not a contender, Lucky Charm,” Qrow said, smirking. His borrowed quarters were the size of a postage stamp, not that he spent much time there anymore. He was used to fitting himself in where it was comfortable, and for now it was comfortable wherever these two were. “Jim, your place is the biggest.”

“I know, but…” James smiled, shaking his head. He turned to Clover, casting thoughts of big, empty houses from his mind. “Your quarters are just so much more homey. I…when I think of Solstice, that’s what I want.”

Clover looked down, a rare shy smile gracing his face. When he looked up, it was with both relief and affection. “Oh. I…thought you might be embarrassed.”

“Never,” James said. To emphasize his point he stepped forward, into Clover’s space. He tilted the younger man’s chin upward, leaning in and capturing his mouth in a kiss. Clover sighed into it, caught up in the smell of snow and firs and the soft brush of James’s lips against his. When James pulled away he was quickly replaced by Qrow, who left his own soft kiss. Clover opened his eyes in time to see Qrow and James come together, completing the circle.

“…well. I guess you make a good point,” he said. James undid his own scarf and wrapped it around Qrow, who was blissfully preening under the attention. Clover had half a mind to sandwich the man in between them while they debated.

But tree matters required mobility. Clover cleared his throat. “In that, case, gentlemen, let us commence the search for the perfect tree. No decision shall be made without unanimity, but in the interest of getting out of this fucking cold I suggest you choose wisely. If we make it back to my place I can promise hot apple cider and blow jobs.”

That certainly got things moving. Clover smiled, watching Qrow and James argue over the merits of the grandest tree in the lot versus the saddest charity case. He already had his pick; he’d had it since they’d first entered, but he’d keep it close for now. The night was cold and so were his memories, but right now he didn’t care at all.

For the moment, he felt right at home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUUHHHHHHH I WANT CHRISTMAS


	26. Holiday (Lucky IronQrow) (Smut)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FILTH FILTH FILTH WE GOT A FILTH WARNING HOOOOOOOO
> 
>  **Chapter Rating: Explicit**  
>  Chapter Warnings: Double penetration, Clover being a bratty sub
> 
> Happy Thanksgiving y'all here's Clover getting stuffed.

The lights twinkled like colored stars above him, shimmering and dancing in the dark of the room. Clover sighed, perfectly relaxed, lying on his back in the living room with his head pillowed on his arms. He’d made a sort of nest down here, blankets strewn across the carpet like soft snow. Just this morning, the space was piled high with presents. His apartment pushed to its limits with family, found and otherwise. But now the wrapping paper had been cleared, the songs sung, the toasts made. Lying in his little cocoon under the tree, the scent of sap and fir needles and freshly baked cookies in his nose, the moment was only missing one thing.

Actually, two things.

“You gonna sleep out here, Lucky Charm?”

Thing Number One leaned over him, a boyish smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Thinking about it,” Clover said. He shifted, extending a hand and reaching up in invitation. “C’mere, it’s nice. It feels like a forest down here.”

“Says the city boy,” Qrow said, though his tone was gentle. He obliged, long legs folding to sit next to him. He was wearing Clover’s clothes again, swimming in a chunky sweater and his old Atlas sweatpants, which hung loose on his hips even though they’d long grown too tight for Clover to wear. He shimmied to the side so he could rest his head in Qrow’s lap, humming in contentment as long fingers found their way into his hair.

“And now it’s even nicer,” Clover replied. He gazed up at Qrow, drinking in the soft smile on his face. The way the lights twinkled in his eyes as he admired the tree, heavy with ornaments. The line of his shoulders, loose and relaxed, like he could be perfectly happy sitting here all night.

“There you two are. Aren’t you coming to bed?”

Thing Number Two entered the living room, clad only in a pair of pajama pants. Clover grinned, admiring the way the lights played against his metal half. Gods, he was so handsome.

“I’d love to, but I got waylaid by a brat,” Qrow said, leaning over and lightly scritching his nails across the crown of Clover’s head. If that was supposed to be a punishment he was doing a poor job of it.

“You can’t go to bed yet, pretty bird. You haven’t opened your present. You too, James.”

“Are there any left?” James asked, indulging them by drawing close and kneeling next to Qrow. He peered under the tree, frowning. “I thought we opened them all.”

Clover reached under one of the blankets, pulling out a discarded green bow from this morning. He gave his boyfriends a wink and a shit-eating grin, then placed it over his crotch.

“One more,” he chirped. “But you’ll have to share.”

Qrow and James stared at him. Clover stretched, making a good show of it. “Oh, come on. Aren’t you gonna unwrap it? You can rip the paper a bit, I don’t mind.”

James shook his head, chuckling as he plucked the bow from its resting place. “I don’t know what I expected.”

Qrow just made a sort of choked sound. Poor birdie. He always did have trouble accepting gifts. Clover rolled over, turning his head and nuzzling a little closer. A lot closer. Those old Atlas sweats were just worn enough that he could feel Qrow’s cock start to twitch as he mouthed at the fabric. Qrow’s hand tightened in his hair, spreading his legs slightly to accommodate Clover’s attentions.

“Fucking…Cloves. _Cloves_. You absolute…you little…”

Clover paused, looking up innocently. Qrow’s chest was heaving, his breath becoming labored. It was hard to tell in the glow of the lights but Clover was sure his pale cheeks were flushed. James leaned over him, his hand sliding behind Qrow’s head to tug him into a kiss. Qrow let out a soft moan, melting into it.

James leaned over and whispered something in Qrow’s ear. The other man shuddered, then nodded, his eyes flicking down to where Clover’s head rested in his lap. James followed his gaze, his blue eyes heavy with growing arousal.

“Gentlemen, care to share with the class?” Clover asked, before resuming his task. By now there was a noticeable wet patch in the front of the sweats, both from his mouth and from the leaking head of Qrow’s member. Clover reached around, urging his hips up so he could tug the sweatpants down.

Qrow groaned as his cock was freed. He was fully hard now, the tip bobbing invitingly before Clover’s face. He was never one to deny himself a little snack, so he wrapped his hand around the base and kissed the tip delicately.

“Brat. You’re a total… _fuck!”_ Qrow bucked his hips, his hand twitching in Clover’s hair. Clover was getting pretty worked up himself, the smell of Qrow’s arousal and the pleasant sting in his scalp and the feel of him on his tongue.

James moved to the side, pulling Clover’s hips up until he was braced on his elbows between Qrow’s legs. Ass in the air, his tank top was pushed up while he continued lavishing attention on Qrow’s cock. James teased him, his hands roaming all over. Clover moaned around Qrow’s cock as James found a nipple, rolling it between his thumb and index finger.

“I was just proposing an equitable arrangement,” James murmured, as he tortured Clover with his hands. He moved to the other nipple, giving it the same treatment. The man was nothing if not thorough.

Clover pulled off of Qrow’s cock. “Oh?” he said. “And?”

James released his nipple, gripping the fabric of his top with both hands. There was a loud tear, and Clover felt the warm air of the living room on his skin.

Clover gasped, looking over his shoulder. “ _James…!”_

James paused. “You said I could rip.”

He did, but he didn’t think James _would_ and he wasn’t sorry that he _did._ “James, baby, you know I think it’s fucking hot when you— _Ahh!“_

A sharp tug and his lounge pants got the same treatment. Good thing he wasn’t precious about this pair. James shot Qrow a guilty look as he worked each pant leg free, throwing them across the room like an excited child tossing the wrapping paper to get to the good stuff. “Sorry, Qrow, I should have saved some for you.”

“I’m fine with this,” Qrow choked, equally affected. He tugged Clover’s hair, urging him up so he could pull his own sweater over his head and shimmy all the way out of the sweatpants. James pulled him up as he scooted back, until they were both kneeling in the blankets. And _oh_ , there was nothing now but skin and metal and strong arms wrapped around his chest.

James guided his chin back and up, claiming his mouth in a kiss. Clover opened up under the request, meeting James’s tongue with his own. A second later Qrow was there, his cock hot and wet against Clover’s thigh as he pulled their bodies together. Long fingers gripped his ass, massaging the muscle as Clover wrapped an arm around his shoulders

“Is this what you want?” James whispered, his hand straying lower. He was hard too, his body flush against Clover’s back while Qrow pressed into his front. Gods, he loved being between them. It made him feel safe, and loved. Worshiped.

The request he’d been mulling over all day bubbled up. Uncontrolled.

“Gods, I…fuck. _Yes_ ,” Clover panted. “I want to take you both tonight. Inside me.”

James and Qrow exchanged looks, tentative but heated. Qrow dipped his head, nipping lightly at Clover’s neck. Trailing kisses up, until his mouth was right at Clover’s ear.

“You think you can handle us, Cloves?” he rasped. Clover shuddered, already wound tight. The tickle of Qrow’s breath in his ear, the feel of James’s hands working their way closer and closer to his cock. It was all so _delicious._

“Y- _yes…_ ” Clover gasped, as James finally took him in his hand. “Yes, I… _yes…!”_

There was a huff in his ear, and Qrow’s shoulders shook as he buried his face in Clover’s neck. James chuckled against his back.

“…what?” Clover said, not comprehending what was so funny. How anyone could string a thought together with James’s big hand stroking them like that was a mystery.

“Jimmy, you were right.” Qrow said, giving his neck an affectionate bite. “Brat wants two cocks. Greedy.”

Clover squirmed, whining. “Did you take bets or what?”

“You’re just that predictable.”

James pulled him closer to his chest, giving his cock a few long, slow strokes. His voice was rich in Clover’s ear. “You know we have to prep you, Darling. You’ll have to be patient. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I know,” he said, distracted. “I…I can handle it. I… _fuck, James_ …I…”

Just as he was about to warn the other man that he was getting _close_ , there was a firm squeeze at the base of his shaft. He whimpered, falling forward onto Qrow’s shoulder. James held him until the feeling subsided, his breath evening out.

“Good,” James said, withdrawing his hand. “Because I don’t want you coming until we’re both inside you.”

“Yes, sir,” Clover said, weakly. “There’s, uh…some lube under the tree.”

Look, Clover wasn’t about to pretend like he hadn’t planned this whole thing.

James wasn’t kidding about the prep. It was the sweetest torture, laid out in the blankets under the colored lights, James opening him up while Qrow, underneath him, kept his mouth busy. They made a coordinated effort to tease him. Every time he chased Qrow’s lips the other pulled away, clicking his tongue in disapproval. And James worked him open with steady determination, his fingers stilling every time Clover felt remotely close. By the time he hit four Clover was _begging_ for it.

“ _Please,_ James, I need…I need…”

Qrow redirected him, tilting his chin down. “Eyes on me, Lucky Charm.”

Clover met his gaze, desperate, as James stretched him. Thick fingers brushed against something sinful and he cried out, the sound caught by Qrow’s lips.

“Hmm, I think you’re ready,” James said, finally. “You’re doing so good, Darling. Qrow, how should we do this?”

Qrow gave him one last peck on the lips, then urged him up. “Better give him your cock first, Jimmy. I can take it from there.”

They rearranged themselves, James lying on his back and Clover straddling his hips. Now that he had a bit of leverage Clover exacted his revenge, grinding his ass back into James’s slick cock. James groaned, catching his hips with a firm grip and lining himself up with Clover’s entrance. It seemed he wasn’t the only one getting impatient. Clover sunk down, as quickly as James would allow, moaning as he stretched around the thick girth.

Brothers, was he really going to take _two_ of them?

“Second thoughts?” Qrow asked, moving behind them as he slicked his fingers up.

Clover bit his lip, shaking his head. “Not a chance, pretty bird.” 

He moved a bit, just a few rolls of his hips to get the feel of it, and James groaned beneath him.

“ _Gods,_ Darling, you were just made for this, weren’t you?”

Qrow nudged his legs a bit wider, and Clover leaned forward to give him better access. Slowly, he felt Qrow’s fingers slide up alongside James’s cock, stretching him even wider. It was already so intense, his body so full as he rocked his hips. Every time he lowered down it felt like his soul was being pulled apart.

“ _Fuck,_ Qrow, that’s…that’s good, that’s… _more, please…”_

“Greedy,” Qrow repeated, though it was spoken with pure affection. He obliged, though, lining himself up alongside James.

A pale hand caressed his side, trailing down to his hip. “Just relax, okay Cloves? We’ve got you.”

Clover let out a breath, all the tension in his body falling away under the command. Qrow pressed a kiss between his shoulders, then slowly pushed in.

To say it was intense was an understatement. Clover had never been stretched so wide in his life. He took it with one long exhale through his nose, ending in a pathetic whimper as Qrow bottomed out. And then they were both in, Clover impaled on both his lovers’ cocks beneath the lit Solstice tree.

All three of them took a moment to adjust. James looked almost pained beneath him, a fine sheen of sweat on his skin. Behind him, he could feel Qrow’s ragged breaths against his back.

“Fuck, Cloves, you’re like a _fucking vice_ ,” Qrow muttered. He pulled out just and inch or so, then pushed back in, drawing moans from both Clover and James.

“Gods, Qrow, I can feel you,” James breathed, his hand clenching on Clover’s hip.

“I can feel you both,” Clover gasped. When neither of them moved for a beat he whined, squirming between them. Bent forward like this, braced on James’s chest, he didn’t have nearly enough range of motion. “Would you…fuck, I can’t…Qrow, James, I need…!”

The other two apparently made sense of that, because they both started moving. Slowly at first, then faster as Clover relaxed further around them, they found a rhythm. It was both agony and ecstasy, one of them always filling him as the other moved out. He was so full it felt like every other stroke was brushing against his prostate. Electric sparks jolted up his spine and Clover cried out, releasing an absolutely filthy moan.

He would probably owe his neighbors a fruit basket in the morning.

None of them were going to last long like this. Qrow’s grip on his hip was hard enough to leave bruises, and James was practically _growling_ as he thrust up into Clover.

“Fuck, I’m… _ahhhh!_ I’m so— _oh fuck oh fuck…!”_

Clover felt like he was losing his mind, his back arched and his head thrown back. Qrow leaned over him, rasping in his ear.

“You gonna come for us, Lucky Charm? Show us how much you love this.”

And then he latched his teeth on Clover’s shoulder and _bit_.

Clover’s orgasm raced through him, powerful and intense. He practically _screamed,_ his fingers digging into James’s chest, drawing a hiss from the man beneath him. His ass clenched around the both of them, and with a few more rolls of his hips James was right behind. Qrow came last, putting his back into it until both Clover and James were whimpering under the assault. Finally his hips stuttered and stilled, buried deep as he spilled his release alongside James.

Clover panted, sagging forward. James caught him, holding Clover to his chest, his come a sticky mess between them.

He started laughing.

“Oh, gods, I’m… _ahaha…_ I’m ruined. _Ruined._ ”

His ass would remember this until his dying day. Nothing else could ever compare. James and Qrow had amazing cocks separately, but _together_? It was a revelation.

“Ruined good or ruined bad?” James asked, brushing his cheek. His hand came away wet with tears Clover hadn’t even realized he’d shed.

Clover sighed, delirious and sex-silly. “Really fucking good.”

Qrow gently pulled out, and they all three winced. Gently, he helped Clover off of James. Clover barely made it off his cock before his legs gave out. Another hysterical laugh bubbled from his chest as he rolled onto his back in the little blanket nest he’d made.

“You seem pretty pleased with yourself,” Qrow noted, brushing his bangs from his sweaty forehead and watching Clover with a wry smile.

Clover nodded vaguely, watching the lights play on the white of the ceiling. He was an absolute mess, his legs felt like jelly, and he was probably—no, _definitely_ leaking come all over the blankets. But he actually couldn’t bring himself to care. He felt completely at ease.

“See? And now we have a nice clean bed to sleep in,” he said, with a lazy grin. If only he could get there. His eyelids were drooping dangerously, the twinkle of the lights going fuzzy as sleep fought to take him.

“Truly, you thought of everything,” James said, pushing himself up and brushing his fingers through Clover’s hair. “Darling, if you fall asleep here you’ll never get up.”

“Uh-huh,” Clover agreed, yawning.

There was movement around him as he drifted off, soft voices and whispered words. The next thing he knew there were two sets of hands pulling him up. Clover groaned in protest, his limbs heavy. But the other two were persistent, guiding him to his feet. Clover winced, as he stood.

“We’ve got you,” Qrow said, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

A metal arm hooked under his shoulders and then James bent, sweeping him up in a bridal carry. He straightened with a groan, holding Clover to his chest. “Perhaps next time let’s do this in a bed.”

Hmm, next time. That sounded nice.

He blinked his eyes open, fighting off sleep. “…did you like your present?”

Blue eyes gazed fondly at him.

“Darling, every day with you is a gift.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone else: writes sweet cute Holiday fluff  
> Me: DP under a tree. Tastefully.


	27. Cold (Ironluck)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Rating: T for curse words? An innuendo???  
> Chapter Warnings: None
> 
> Just some Ironluck sick!fic for you all.

Clover Ebi was a fantastic Captain, everything James could have asked for. As a leader he was kind but professional. As a tactician he was shrewd and efficient. And as the right-hand man of the General of the Atlas military, he was unparalleled. He executed his orders with ease, finding creative solutions to even the toughest problems.

He was not so good at taking care of himself.

There was certainly an interpretation of Clover’s actions that cast them in a much more favorable light. The brave soldier, willing to give anything for the cause. James could see how that would be expected, rewarded even. From his predecessor, that old battle-axe. From Clover’s own father. Even, once upon a time, from James himself. But now he only felt shame and regret, because Clover wasn’t just a selfless soldier. An asset to be deployed.

He was also then man James loved, and he was suffering.

“I don’t get sick,” Clover said, as sure of himself as if he was asserting the tundra was cold.

The message was undercut by the fact that he was feverous and shivering in James’s office. James tugged off his right glove, pressing his metal hand to Clover’s forehead. The sensors in his fingertips registered the temperature of his skin. One-hundred and two degrees.

“Clover,” he said, deeply concerned. “You have a low-grade fever.”

“But not a high-grade one,” Clover said, smiling weakly. Only to be overcome by a hacking cough.

“Barely,” James said, sighing. “You’re relieved for the day. Let’s get you to bed.”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Clover replied. His eyes were entirely too glassy to be alluring. And yet, he still managed to attempt. “James, I’m fine.”

Alright.

“Captain Ebi, you are not to report to duty until you are fully recovered,” he said, keeping his tone cool and professional. “That’s an order. Understood?”

There was something like hurt in Clover’s eyes. But he nodded, the perfect soldier as always.

“Yes, sir.”

It broke his heart a bit. Gods, could he do this? Could he send the man he loved into battle, knowing what might happen? Clover didn’t even _know_ the true extent, the war he’d signed his life away for. And here James was fretting because his boyfriend had a bad cold.

Clover turned to go, taking the obvious dismissal. James caught his arm.

“Come over.”

Clover just blinked at him, obviously confused. Understandable, considering his fever.

“I…was thinking of working from home,” he said, awkwardly. “For the rest of the day.”

He wasn’t, but he would now. There was nothing important happening this afternoon, now that he thought about it. Nothing that couldn’t be done over a call. He could be in the office, and Clover could be in his bed, and James could keep watch over his boyfriend and…and...bring him soup. That was a thing, right?

“…okay,” Clover said, his brow furrowed adorably.

James gave up on explaining, gathering his scroll and a handful of files and ushering the younger man out the door. Clover indulged him, disoriented enough that he seemed to think it was a fun game. The hallways were blessedly empty, and James had to thank the gods that his secret boyfriend had a luck semblance. Even if said boyfriend apparently thought James was ushering him home for sex.

“Bed,” James ordered, as soon as the door to his apartment shut behind him. He sighed in relief that they hadn’t been caught.

“James, if you wanted to fuck me all you had to do was say so,” Clover mumbled. He was fumbling, uncoordinated, with the buttons on his vest. Both of them. 

James sighed, leading Clover by the shoulders into the bedroom. “Clover, you’re sick.”

“You said you liked tying me up.”

“Ill,” James clarified, his cheeks heating up. He retreated to the closet, pulling out a t-shirt and a pair of pajama pants for Clover to wear. “You have a bad cold, and you’re not feeling well. And you need rest.”

Clover was wavering on his feet in the bedroom. It only took a gentle push to get him to sit down on the bed. James helped him undress, unbuttoning his vest and pulling the gray tank from his shoulders.

“I’m _not_ sick,” Clover insisted. Whined, really, as he shivered in the air of the bedroom. “I’m telling you, I never get— _AH-CHOO!”_

“Yes, darling,” James said, helping Clover into the t-shirt. It hung loose around his shoulders, an odd sight for anyone who knew Clover. “Do you sneeze like that often?”

He handed Clover a tissue, and he wiped his nose. “Allergies. There’s…dust.”

“Oh, is my apartment dirty?” James teased, working Cover’s trousers open. “I just had it cleaned.”

Despite the suggestive motion, James was able to shimmy the fabric under his hips, pulling his boots and pants off and replacing them with soft flannel. Clover finally relented, falling back onto the mattress with a groan.

“I don’t get sick,” Clover repeated, his voice small. “I can still work. Just give me something easy to do...”

James knelt next to the bed, his head pressed to Clover’s thigh in benediction. “Please, just rest,” he whispered. The guilt ate away at him.

The labored breathing on the bed slowed, then evened out. James chanced a look. Clover had his head canted to the side, seeking relief in cool sheets, his skin flushed and feverous. He looked both peaceful and troubled.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow, or whenever the fever broke. Then he would tell Clover everything.

James stood, gently lifting Clover’s legs onto the bed and pulling the covers over his flushed skin. He kissed the tips of his fingers, then pressed them to Clover’s temple.

Conversations for tomorrow. Today, he had a sick boyfriend to care of. And soup to master.


	28. Wish (Ironluck)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Rating: T  
> Chapter Warnings: Discussion of grief/mourning
> 
> *crawls up from the depths* IT'S DECEMBER 2ND LET'S FINISH THIS.
> 
> Making it 90% to the finish line and then abruptly deciding you need a three-day break? Sounds about right. Anyway, this is sort of a continuation from the last chapter, and the next one will be a direct continuation from this one. Enjoy some angst!

“Okay,” Clover said, after a long, _long_ pause. “Okay. I…”

He looked around the office, at a complete loss for the first time in years. James paced the floor, awaiting his reaction. Clover just wished he had one. Instead his mind was all abuzz, thoughts of gods and maidens and ancient wizards and undying, unrelenting evil all competing for his attention. Magic was a fine metaphor; Clover would have sworn it was real by the glimmering green lights of a Solitas winter or the sunset over the arched bridge of Argus. By the tiny fingers and toes of his niece and nephew, and the tears trailing down Cedar’s cheeks as the next generation of Ebis entered the world. And even in the endless blue of James’s eyes, gone from stormy and troubled to bright and passionate as their bodies joined intimately. Magic was fine, magic was lovely, but magic seemed like a pointless romanticism in the face of _Magic_ , which James had just informed him was alive and well in Remnant.

“I…might need to sit down for a bit.”

James offered Clover his desk, because of course this ridiculous office had nowhere to _sit_. Let alone to curl into a ball like he craved, in an attempt to process all that information. Clover prided himself on offering a quick assessment, able to roll with the punches no matter the situation. Unfortunately, the situation was that they were fighting a war older than history. And the man he loved had just delivered the punch.

“Of course,” James said, guiding him to the chair. “Take all the time you need.”

James let him be, abandoning his pacing to stand stoically at the window. Clover bowed over the desk, head in his hands. He could sense James, just in his blind spot, hovering but also detached. He was frustratingly closed off, none of the warmth and affection Clover had become accustomed to. Cool, professional. General James Ironwood, Headmaster of Atlas, arguably the most powerful man in the Kingdom. Keeper of dangerous secrets.

“You’ve known all this for…”

“Years,” James said. “Before I was Headmaster. And before me it was Professor Cronus and General Rhea who…worked with him.”

Cronus retired five _years_ ago. Had James really borne this burden for so long, all by himself? Suddenly the aftermath of Beacon made a lot more sense. The overwork, the deterioration. James’s reluctance to deepen their relationship. The far-off look he got sometimes.

And then Clover had come flouncing around like a mindless bimbo thinking it was all nothing a good blow job couldn’t fix.

“Gods, James, I…” he shook his head, trying to clear the fuzz. “I’m sorry, I really don’t know what to say. It’s just a _lot._ ”

“Why don’t you take the rest of the day?” James suggested. And there, there was some of that warmth. The soft sympathy to his voice that predated their time as lovers. When they were two men who fought side by side. His mentor. His _friend_.

“Of course,” Clover said, standing carefully. He cast about the room, adrift. “I…”

“Clover, it’s all right,” James said, turning slightly and giving him a small smile. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

Clover nodded. “Yes, sir.”

The words were familiar on his tongue, comforting even. When the world had turned on its end around him there was still the chain of command. Still formalities and rituals and history to fall back on.

James turned back to the window. “Yes. Well, get some rest.”

Clover was still reeling, but he recognized a clear dismissal when he heard one. He was nearly to the door when the sound of his own name cut through the silence.

“Clover,” James called, choked and rushed. Clover turned, but James still had his back to him. Clover could barely make out the reflection of his face in the window. His eyes were shut. “I…realize this is much more than you signed up for. There are other positions in the military. Positions you’re more than qualified for. That I would be happy to recommend you for.”

“What…” Clover furrowed his brow. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying no one would blame you, least of all me. That…goes for our personal relationship as well. Though of course, both are strictly confidential.”

A familiar dread pooled in his gut. If he didn’t think this day could get any worse, he was clearly wrong. “You…you’re breaking up with me.”

He’d heard it a million times before. Frankly, he should have expected it sooner. That gentle rejection, the _hey it’s been fun but I need to get serious about_ –

“ _No!”_

James whirled around, his fists clenched. “No, _gods_ , Clover. That’s not what I…I didn’t mean that at all.”

“Then what?” Clover said. He was exhausted; it was barely past noon, James had just dropped a bomb on his entire worldview, and to top it all off he was possibly getting dumped and fired in the same day.

At least he hadn’t embarrassed himself by confessing his love yet.

“Clover, I…” James deflated, looking lost. He shook his head, turning back to the window. When he next spoke, the cool professionalism was back in place. “Get some rest. You can tell me your decision tomorrow.”

Fine.

Fine, this was…it was fine. Everything was fine.

Except that _nothing_ was fine and _everything_ was wrong and James had all but hammered him with that knowledge for the last two hours. Clover had no idea how he made it back to his apartment. The walls of the Academy were all a blur of gray and blue and white, swirling around him like a ravine in a snowstorm. He trudged on, needing to _move_.

Somehow he got home, because the next thing he knew he was standing in his living room. The mid-afternoon sun was streaming through the windows.

Clover shut the curtains, stripped to his boxers, and fell into bed.

* * *

He dreamt of his mother, because of course.

_‘Make a wish, sweetheart.’_

Fifteen candles burned bright, nearly setting the chocolate cake before him ablaze. His mother leaned over him, her hands on his shoulders, her voice warm and rich in his ear. Her hair, a long chestnut braid, fell over her shoulder and dangled dangerously close to the flame. But of course, it never fell.

Clover closed his eyes, concentrating. Centering his focus, until the core of his aura crystallized around one point. This was it; this was for everything. He raised his hand to his lapel, flicking his lucky pin. There was a satisfying thump of his calloused thumb on the metal and then Clover was leaning back, in freefall. The rush of wind all around him.

‘ _I wish…I wish…’_

“If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride,” his father said, shaking his head. “Hard work, Clover. That’s what matters in this world.”

“Yes, sir,” Clover said, deflating slightly. He was sitting at the dinner table in his Ace Ops uniform. The lucky pin was clenched in his fist. Behind his father, he caught Faye rolling her eyes.

“John,” his mother said, her hands tightening on his shoulders. “It is your _son’s birthday._ If you could just let up on the boy for _one day_ out of the year, then we could all have a nice time.”

It was a miracle they were even in the same room. Everyone else was looking away, politely ignoring the scene that was brewing. Cedar kicked his foot under the table, giving him a sympathetic smile. His Uncle Roy looked about two seconds from launching into his own tirade. Clover was just glad he didn’t have any friends here to witness this.

But oh, the Colonel was on a roll. “A nice time isn’t going to get him into Atlas, Amaranth. A nice time isn’t going to pay the mortgage and put food on the table while you’re out galivanting in the tundra for a week...”

_The tundra._

Clover shot up, whirling around to face his mother. “ _Don’t go!_ Ma, please don’t go, you’ll die out there. Please just…I miss you so much…”

The pin cut into his palm and he tried to press it to her hands. _‘Luck, luck, take the luck,’_ he thought. _‘It’s yours, not mine.’_ But it was like he couldn’t make it stick, fumbling and clumsy. He sunk to the floor, desperate. Begging.

“Don’t be so dramatic, son,” his father chided.

His mother knelt and wrapped her arms around him, confused. “Clover, my sweet boy, what are you talking about? I’m right here.”

“You’ll die,” he moaned. “You’ll _die_ if you go out there, so just…please. _Please_ don’t go. Please stay. I just…I still need you, okay? I need you here. I don’t know what to do.”

He clung to the coat of her uniform, hoping he could keep her. But it was no use. Thick fabric and firm bone crumbled beneath him until he was alone, sobbing. Overcome with grief.

_Don’t go…_

_I still need you…_

_Please, Ma…_

* * *

Clover woke with tears in his eyes.

He laid in the dark for some time, until his heartbeat slowed and his breathing calmed and the spell over his muscles broke and he could finally _move_ , shake off the fear that kept him pinned and paralyzed where the dream had last left him. Eventually he stood, gliding down the hall like a ghost. There was no need for lights. Instinct and muscle memory carried him to the bathroom.

He splashed some water on his face, washing away the evidence. As he lifted his face from the basin he paused, studying the mirror.

There was just enough light from the shattered moon to illuminate his reflection. He reached out, touching the glass. Tracing over eyebrows, cheekbones. His nose, evenly sloped and symmetrical. The wrinkles that had started to form under his eyes. If he squinted he could imagine the jawline slimmer, the lips softer and fuller. A few more laugh lines. And the kind, loving expression that always hovered over him, ready to offer words of encouragement.

“What do I do, Ma?” he said, barely a whisper. “Please…”

The drip of the faucet was the only reply.

It wasn’t her face that faded. The slips of memory that shook him with the passage of time. It was her voice. The illusion shattered, and he was alone in the dark.

Sighing, Clover returned to his room. He sat down on the bed, picking up his mother’s pin and thumbing over the edges. He brought it to his lips, pressed a gentle kiss to the metal, then set it down and retrieved his scroll. Hands shaking, he typed out a message.

**_CE: Can I come over?_ **

It was two in the morning, and yet the response was instant.

_JI: I wish you would_


	29. Love (Ironluck) (Smut)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Rating: **Explicit**  
>  Chapter Warnings: None. Just...sweet, sweet loving between two old(ish) men. 
> 
> This follows directly from the last chapter! And...it mostly concludes our (belated) month. Idk what I'll do for free day, but it will probably be significantly stuipder. This piece felt like the proper emotional note to end on, after all the Clover torture we've indulged in.

He hadn’t slept a wink.

When Clover entered James had his uniform half on, tie and jacket discarded, with half a finger of scotch in a glass on the coffee table. He drew Clover into the apartment with something like desperation, safe from the nonexistent prying eyes in the early morning hours. More that he wanted Clover here, close. Safe, where James could see him and touch him. Even if it was James that caused the hurt.

Clover didn’t look any better than he did when he’d left the office. He cast about the apartment, before settling on James. “You never slept,” he noted, accusing but accurate. “Did you eat anything?”

“Did you?” James replied.

“Mmm,” Clover said, noncommittal, before floating into the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator, evaluating the contents with the eye of a tactician. “Eggs?”

James considered it, then agreed with a nod, settling at the kitchen counter to watch Clover work. There was a practiced ease to his movements, a mesmerizing efficiency as he worked. Eggs neatly cracked, one-handed, into a bowl. Whisked with a fork while the pan preheated. Salt in, pepper in. A hint of grated cheese. There was a sizzle as a pat of butter hit the skillet, a confident swirl of the pan, and then in with the eggs.

Clover was turned to the stove now, the magic of the stovetop a mystery to James. He shook the pan with his right hand and stirred with his left, and then seconds later big, beautiful curds of scrambled egg were hitting the plate. Everything was cooked perfectly and nothing stuck.

They ate bent over the counter, ravenous, his fork clashing with Clover’s on the shared plate. James targeted the fluffiest curds while Clover scooped up the creamy bits and spread them on buttered toast.

It was possibly the best meal of his life.

James watched as Clover swiped the last of his toast over the plate, scraping up the remnants of the eggs. He popped the bite in his mouth, made a satisfied hum, then gathered their dishes and took them to the sink.

“How is it,” James mused, “That you always end up taking care of _me_ , and not the other way around?”

Clover was silent for a moment, as he set the dishes in the sink. James had never seen him so quiet, in the decade they’d known each other. Finally, he seemed to come to a decision. He shut off the faucet, leaving the dishes untouched, and turned around.

“Because I…” Clover said, his teal eyes wide and yearning.

And in one, two, _three_ steps he was at James’s side. Clover pulled him into a desperate kiss, crushing against his lips as he tangled his hands through the hair at the back of his head. James made a muffled noise of surprise. It wasn’t like he hadn’t anticipated this when Clover messaged him late at night, but the force of his passion was a sharp contrast to the stillness that preceded it.

He quickly adapted, wrapping his arms around Clover’s waist and bringing their bodies flush. He broke the kiss to mouth along Clover’s smooth jaw, nipping at the sensitive spot just below his ear. Clover shuddered against him, letting out a soft moan.

“What do you want, darling?” he murmured, bunching up the fabric of Clover’s shirt so he could get his hands on the firm muscles of his back. Clover arched into him, his head dropping.

“You,” he whispered. “Just you. James… _please…”_

Brothers, he was weak for this man.

James needed no further incentive, walking Clover backward toward the bedroom. It wasn’t exactly quick; kissing and walking didn’t quite go together except that they _needed_ to be kissing, always. Constantly. Clothes were shed along the way, Clover’s fingers finding the buttons of his shirt with practiced ease. It seemed like an eternity before the back of Clover’s legs hit the mattress, and by then James was just as desperate.

Clover fell back into the sheets with a surprised cry. James was there in an instant, crawling forward until their bodies were flush. He hefted one of Clover’s legs with his metal arm, pushing it up at the knee so he could grind their hips together. Clover cried out, under him, instinctively bringing his fist to up to muffle the sound.

James pulled it away, pressing another kiss to swollen lips. “I want to hear you,” he said. “I want…” Another roll of his hips, and Clover moaned loud and wanton. The friction was exquisite; the tip of his cock was already leaking.

“James,” Clover gasped. “I need you _now.”_

And who was he to deny a request like that? Another night and James might have drawn it out, teased him until he was quaking, but not tonight. Tonight, they were mortal.

He all but scrambled to the bedside table, fumbling the lube in his haste. He cursed, leaning over to pluck the tube from under the bed, his ass hanging over the edge in a rather undignified manner. There was a gentle laugh from behind him, the first genuine one he’d heard in…nearly a day. It was music to his ears.

James looked over his shoulder, lube successfully retrieved. Clover was lying back against the pillows, his legs spread invitingly and his cock in his hand. He gave it a few lazy strokes as he watched James suffer. James grinned in what normally came off as roguish but probably looked more idiotic in the moment. “Have I ever told you that you have the most wonderful laugh?”

“You have, actually.”

“It bears repeating,” James said. His eyes flicked down, guilt rearing up again. “I…thought I might never hear it again. Though I suppose I haven’t said anything funny lately.”

Clover’s eyes softened, and he gave James a sad smile. “You try. You have your ups and downs.”

His words were like a benediction. James exhaled, his eyes fluttering closed.

Clover broke the tension, reaching his foot out and nudging James’s asscheek with his toe. “But a little physical comedy never hurt. Thank you for debasing yourself for my pleasure.”

James all but growled, crawling forward. “Darling, I haven’t even gotten _started_.”

That drew out another laugh, like bells on high, devoured under James’s lips as he captured Clover’s mouth in a kiss.

He pulled back long enough to uncap the lube and coat his fingers. The mood had brightened but that didn’t make the need any less urgent. Kneeling between Clover’s legs, he reached down to tease at his entrance.

Clover moaned, pressing up into his fingers. “ _Fuck_ , that’s…more. I need…” he gasped, as James dipped his finger into that tight heat. “… _yes,_ please, more…”

There was getting to the point and then there was doing a bad job, and James didn’t intend to accomplish the latter. He massaged the tight muscle, stretching it open before adding a second digit. Clover clutched the sheets as he scissored his fingers, a soft whimper escaping his lips.

“Gods, you feel so good,” James murmured, adding a third finger. He curled his hand, searching, relishing the desperate _keen_ from the man below him as he hit his mark.

“ _James…!”_

Clover bucked under him, and James nipped at his inner thigh. He looked so perfect like this—skin flushed, his cock leaking onto his firm stomach, spread open and desperate to be filled. James decided he couldn’t wait any longer. And from the looks of it, neither could Clover.

“Are you ready for—“

“ _Yes.”_

James retracted his fingers, drawing out a needy whine, then hooked Clover’s tanned legs over his shoulders. He lined himself up, letting the anticipation build as the tip of him pushed against Clover’s entrance. Clover looked up at him, desperate, his pupils blown so wide that only a faint strip of green showed.

He was beautiful.

James pushed in, slow and agonizing. The feel of it was intoxicating, like Clover’s body was pulling him in. He let out a low groan as he bottomed out, bowing forward. Clover tugged him in, breathing in his air.

“Fuck, James, that’s…that’s so good, baby…”

No matter how many times they came together, it never got old. Every time was a rush of sensation. James gasped, buried deep, catching his breath. It felt like liquid fire was pooled in his gut, electricity sparking from his flesh side to his metal. He squeezed his eyes shut.

“ _Gods,_ Clover, I…I love…”

James rocked his hips forward, and Clover cried out. The sound, desperate and needy, pulled him into the present. He pulled out nearly all the way, then slammed back in. Clover moaned beneath him, fingers scrabbling at his back. He set a brutal pace, gripping muscled thighs and angling his hips until he found the spot that made Clover scream.

Everything else faded away, until there was a singular goal; to draw every ounce of pleasure from this gorgeous man.

“ _Ahhh!_ James…fuck…! There, that’s…harder, please, I’m— _ahhh!_ I’m so…I’m gonna…!”

James reached a hand between them, wrapping around Clover and pumping his shaft. Clover _wailed,_ his back arching off the bed, head tossed back in ecstasy and then he was c _oming_ , clenching down around James’s cock. James fucked him through it, finally chasing his own pleasure. His rhythm went erratic as Clover pulled him closer, planting sloppy kisses to his mouth. A few more thrusts and he tipped over the edge, his vision whiting out as he buried himself in that tight heat.

 _I love you_.

James panted, coming down from the high. But the thought wouldn’t leave him. In fact, it grew stronger every second. Because it was _true_ , a beam of shining light as true as the darkness that lurked around the corner. Gods, he…he was in _love._

_I’m in love. Clover, I love you. My darling…_

“Gods, James, that was…” Clover panted, his thighs quivering in James’s hands. James eased him down, carefully pulling out. Clover went boneless in the sheets, gazing at him with endless adoration. He looked thoroughly debauched, lying there, and yet James couldn’t conceive of a more perfect creature. And all the while a refrain sounded in his wounded heart.

_I love you. I would move mountains for you. I would burn the world to see you smile._

It was terrifying.

He pressed a kiss to Clover’s temple, then retreated to the bathroom to collect himself. Clover was half asleep by the time he returned with a damp cloth, murmuring a vague protest as James manhandled him to clean him off.

Love, love, he was in love. He gathered Clover to his side, smiling like an idiot, like he could turn metal to flesh if they pressed their bodies together. Clover molded himself against him, splayed out over his chest. He seemed not at all perturbed that his pillow was cold and unyielding. But then again, Clover always did run hot.

“I have to get up in a couple hours,” Clover sighed. His muscles twitched, as if he might spring to action.

“I know,” James said, wrapping his arms around Clover a little tighter. “So do I. Please…stay.”

A rare request in a night of penitence. Clover obliged him, though, relaxing into his embrace. He drifted off with the soft tickle of chestnut hair against his cheek.

* * *

James woke to the rustle of sheets and a dip in the bed. It was still dark out. A quick glance at the clock revealed it to be half past five. Warm fingers trailed over his increasingly thick beard, then Clover leaned over and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“I should go now,” Clover whispered.

And _oh,_ how James wanted him to stay. Wanted to linger in bed, limbs tangled together. Make love unhurried as the sun came up. Share coffee-tinged kisses, feel the tender scrub of hands in his hair under the spray of the shower. Walk hand-in-hand into the Academy and pause, under the rotunda, for a parting kiss so tender and intimate that everyone in Atlas would know who Clover Ebi had spent the night with.

But James was good, very good, at keeping secrets. And so was Clover.

“Okay,” he replied. By which he meant, _I love you._

He slept another hour after Clover left, face pressed to the warmth left behind. The rest of the morning was uneventful. He showered alone, fixed a singular cup of coffee, and sat at the kitchen counter on his scroll before cleaning up and heading into the office.

At 0800 hours his door chimed, and he flicked his scroll to allow access. In strode Clover, Captain Ebi of the Ace Operatives, a faint blush and a hint of a limp the only indication of their encounter last night.

James suddenly felt very nervous.

“Clover,” he greeted. “It’s…very good to see you. Have you…had a chance to think?”

 _Had_ he? James didn’t know what happened before Clover had, effectively, _booty called_ him. But maybe he needed more time? Except they didn’t _have_ more time, the situation was only deteriorating the longer they waited, and he needed people he could trust on his—

“I have, sir,” Clover said. He clasped his hands behind his back and straightened, his chin jutting out slightly. Teal eyes met his, bright and challenging. “And it’s a nonstarter. You’re not getting rid of me that easy.”

A slow smile spread on James’s face. “I’m…I’m very glad to hear that. Captain.”

Clover answered with a cocky grin. He rolled his shoulders. “Well, then. What’s next?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get you a man who makes you eggs and then bones down.


	30. Free Day (Ironluck)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> IT. IS. DONE.
> 
> GUHHHHHHHHHHH
> 
> It's December 4th and I've written over 40k. So here's one last one. A little bit crack, a little bit fluff. A lot of Ironluck, which was not my intention when I first started but then this whole "Clover and James getting together/early relationship" idea wouldn't leave me until I had seen it through. But that tag needs more food so I'M NOT SORRY. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone who's stuck with it to the end. I hope you enjoyed the ride!

Of all the things James could have expected on a Tuesday afternoon, a personal visit from the Argus contingent was not one of them.

“Major Ebi, come in,” he said, standing and walking around his desk. “Anything I should be worried about?”

Ever since closing the borders, the Argus base had become increasingly vital. Atlas was geographically isolated, rich in dust and ore but poor in everything else it needed to survive. They could only grow so much under Atlas’s controlled climate. Prices for everyday goods had skyrocketed, something Robyn Hill reminded him of constantly. The military had taken to purchasing supplies to distribute directly, but Argus was key to keeping trade flowing. Without Argus, it would be even worse.

“The fleet’s never been tighter, sir,” Major Ebi assured him. James had always liked him, and he had the bonus of being Clover’s cousin. They were close; James had heard more stories than was probably appropriate for a General to hear about a Major. “No problems to report. This is just an…impromptu visit.”

Major Ebi extended his right hand. “I just want you to know it’s been an honor to serve under you, sir.”

James frowned, as he took the offered hand. The Major had a firm, decisive handshake. “That’s kind of you, Major, but you make it sound as if you’re about to res—“

He did not anticipate the punch.

Cedar Ebi had been in the Logistics division for the entirety of James’s tenure as General, a great deal of it based in Argus. It was a thoroughly boring job, which James knew because he also had a thoroughly boring job. At least, on a good day. But they’d always had a good rapport. Major Ebi was polite and professional in his correspondence, and he had a reputation as a dedicated family man. So it may have slipped James’s mind that he was also a top graduate of Atlas Academy, competed in the singles round at the Vytal Festival Tournament, and had served on a well-regarded combat squad for years. And that he was left-handed.

James didn’t go _down_ , but it was a close thing. He staggered back, catching himself on the desk. When he looked up, Major Ebi was cursing and shaking his wrist. James just gaped, flabbergasted, holding his throbbing jaw.

“That was fifty percent strength, sir,” Major Ebi said, wincing. “Like I said, I respect you a lot. And everything you’ve done for Atlas. Now, what exactly are your intentions toward my cousin?”

He couldn’t believe it. He was getting a shovel talk from his subordinate.

“Major—”

“You can call me Cedar when I’m punching you. This is personal.”

James was _personally_ going to arrest the man if he took another swing. He took a deep breath, keeping calm. Clover’s family was important to him. No matter how…difficult some of its members could be. Actually, James was hard-pressed to think of an Ebi who was not difficult in some way, shape or form. Maybe Clover’s other cousin, who at least lived in Vacuo. Where difficult things went.

“ _Cedar_ ,” he said, through gritted teeth. The sting of the blow faded as his aura belatedly joined the party. “I can assure you I mean no harm toward your cousin.”

“Uh-huh,” Cedar said, skeptical. “I’ve heard it all before, buddy. Uh, sir.”

Clearly his rank was putting a damper on the usual speech.

Cedar quickly recovered, scowling and getting up in James’s face. James had a good six inches on him.

“Look, I’m gonna tell you this _once_ , okay? Just like I’ve told every other useless shitheel who thinks they want to have a little _fun._ Maybe you can fool Shrimp into giving you the time of day. But if I ever, _ever_ get wind of you hurting a hair on his empty little head you will be paying it back with interest. _I will end you.”_

There was rather a lot to process in that.

“What…did you call him?”

Cedar blinked. “What?”

“You…call Clover…Shrimp?”

“Well…” Cedar paused. “Yeah. Obviously.”

When James didn’t respond to that, Cedar elaborated.

“Because he’s so little.”

This family.

Cedar scoffed, shaking his head. “Pfftt, you didn’t even know _that_ about him. Gods, you’re disgusting. You’re just the same as the rest of—”

“ _Major_ Ebi,” James cut in, putting a hand to his temple. He needed to restore a little order here. “I suspect Clover didn’t tell me about his nickname because he’s thirty-four, a military Captain, and possibly the best Hunstman in Atlas. While my relationship with Clover is unconventional, which for the record is _our business alone_ , I have nothing but respect for him.”

“Oh, really?” Cedar said, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

“Yes, really,” James said. He thought of Clover, and a warmth filled his chest. A faint smile formed on his face. “Frankly, I…I’ve never met anyone like him. He’s selfless, caring, gentle. He’s beautiful inside and out.”

The shorter man scowled, his fists clenched. “Don’t you talk about my baby cousin’s _inner beauty_ like that.”

Oh, for the love of—

James made a low noise of frustration. “Major, it would be my pleasure to have every single one of Clover’s exes disappeared from Remnant if you will kindly get it through your head that I _love_ him.”

Cedar blinked. “You do?”

“… _you do???”_

Both men turned. Clover was standing in the doorway, looking stricken.

Well, shit.

James panicked, neatly sidestepping the Major. “Darling, I…I know we haven’t talked about it, but I…well, I supposed I’ve known for a while. But please don’t feel any pressure to…I don’t want to put you in a position where—”

He was cut off as an Ebi got up in his face for the second time in ten minutes. Except now it was _Clover_ , striding over and pulling him into a kiss. There was a squawk of protest behind them, but all James could think about was the feel of Clover’s soft lips on his. His hands clasped on James’s shoulders. His body pressing close.

Clover pulled back, resting his forehead against James’s. “I love you too,” he whispered.

Something melted in him, and he wrapped his arms around Clover’s waist. “I love you,” he repeated, leaning in for another kiss. Clover’s lips parted slightly under his. James could have drank him in for hours.

There was the sound of a throat clearing. Several times.

“Shrimp,” Major Ebi said, clearly uncomfortable. “Will you stop _canoodling_ already?”

* * *

Cedar was an idiot, but at least he was an idiot who was _here_ , in Atlas. For the first time in months.

“Well, I’m a bit put out that you came all the way from Argus and your first order of business was to interrogate my boyfriend,” Clover said, pulling him into a hug. “Whose supply run did you snipe?”

“Jenkins,” Cedar replied, clapping him on the back. He cast a nervous look to James. “Er…”

Clover rolled his eyes. He draped his arm around his idiot cousin’s shoulders. “Baby,” he said, relishing the wince that drew out of Cedar. “You can overlook a little protocol violation just this once, right? My cousin is very stupid, is all.”

“I suppose I could be convinced…”

James rubbed his jaw, thoughtfully. Did he have…was that a little _bruise?_ Clover turned to Cedar, incredulous. Cedar looked at his feet.

No more hugs. Only smacks. He thwacked the back of Cedar’s head. “Did you _punch him?_ Ce, the man could have you court martialed!”

“It’s ah…consider it forgiven,” James said, smiling faintly. “It doesn’t even hurt anymore.”

“Appreciate it, sir,” Cedar said. He at least looked a bit embarrassed. “You took the hit admirably, if I could say.”

James raised his eyebrows. “Exactly how many of my men have you punched over the years?”

Both Clover and Cedar went a bit red.

“Best not to ask,” Clover said. “For, ah…reasons.”

“If it helps, sir, they all deserved it,” Cedar said. He squared his jaw. “And what I said still holds. You hurt Shrimp, you answer to me.”

Clover rolled his eyes. “ _Honestly_ , gods…when’s your flight back, Ce?”

Cedar checked his scroll. “Half an hour.”

“Okay,” Clover said, taking responsibility as the only clearly sane one. “James, I’d like to catch up with this idiot so I’m gonna walk him back to the hangar. I’ll come by after?”

James smiled, taking his hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’d like that.”

On second thought, none of them were sane. Because Clover was crazy about this man. His heart pounded in his chest, and he grinned like the lovesick idiot he was. He couldn’t help but step forward, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of James’s mouth.

“ _Eugh,_ gahhh! Would you not…I’ll just…I’ll wait by the elevator, Shrimp.”

As soon as the doors swooshed shut, James whirled them around, pressing Clover against the desk. “I thought he’d never leave,” he murmured, before capturing Clover’s lips with his own. Clover moaned against him, lost in the sensation.

“I love you,” he said, when they parted. “I was waiting for you to say it first. I thought maybe I was just…”

Just over-reacting, like he always did. Throwing himself in too hard and too fast and driving everyone away, or trying to reel in love like a particularly tough catch.

“I’ve known for weeks,” James replied, smiling and shaking his head. “I was just waiting…I didn’t want to make you feel…”

James broke off, struggling to find words. Clover trailed a hand down his lapel, feeling the heartbeat and whirr of machinery under his palm. “So we’re both idiots, apparently.”

“Apparently.”

Clover was okay with being an idiot if it meant being an idiot with James. He closed his eyes, thinking of all the false starts. All the promises that went unfulfilled. All the nights spent hoping and dreaming and trying so hard to be the right thing for someone else. When the whole time the right thing, the right _one_ , was here all along.

“Sorry about Cedar,” he said, gently cupping James’s cheek.

“He’s got quite the arm,” James said. “Though I don’t think he’ll be using it again any time soon.”

At Clover’s slightly horrified look, James chuckled. “Relax, darling. I completely understand where he’s coming from. I just meant…well. I simply have to spend every day trying to make you happy, don’t I?”

If Clover wasn’t already head over heels, that would have pushed him right off the airship.

“Sounds like a plan,” Clover said. He leaned in, giving James one last peck. “As much as I’d like to celebrate, I have one overprotective cousin to deal with. This idiot better have baby pictures for me or I’m hurling him off of Atlas.”

James laughed, a deep rumble that reverberated through Clover’s chest. Gods, he was going to ride that man into next week as soon as he got the chance.

“I can’t blame him too much, considering the outcome.”

“I…” Clover bit his lip. “I’m glad you said it, James. I really am.”

Pulling himself away was torture, but he barely managed. He threw James a little salute, as he backed toward the door.

“Though it would have been nice if you said it to me before you said it to my cousin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cedar, on the long flight back to Argus, knowing that he came here to bust some skulls and instead his baby cousin is probably having freaky sex with General Ironwood right about now: ....................goddamn it


End file.
